My Nuka
by NarniaIsAwesome
Summary: One woman of Amator, Two nukar, Three different worlds, Four small hobbits, Five siblings, Six thrones, Seven friends of Narnia, Eight who were family, Nine of the Fellowship. One broken heart. One betrayal. One death. And there is One who watches over them all. (Bad summary - better one inside!) Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok - just a quick disclaimer and a quick note. And then the summary.**

**Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien or Lewis. I wish I own Lord of the Rings and Narnia - but I don't.**

**Cover pic is the main character - only her hair is more gold than red.**

**Now this is for any of you who have read/are reading my other story For The Sake of Blood. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT, DON'T READ THE REST OF THIS AUTHOR NOTE - SPOILERS! First off - thank you! Second, I want you to forget everything that you learned about the Amator in that story. Since they are a people I invented, I have completely changed the history and tons of other stuff. Basically, the Amator are NOT related to the draghonar. Dragons are dragons. Amator do still have a dragon-form - but just because they do. It has nothing to do with the draghonar. The Amator are also not dragon fighters (they would totally fight dragons, but it isn't their main purpose). In this story, the Amator do not undergo blood rage. Rajani and the Standubh do not exist, and neither do the Amator king and queen (I forget their names - I know - I'm a bad author!) or the heir of Amator. They can't just link themselves to others' minds. So basically, everything from the other story gets flung out the window! Also, in this story, Amator have more and different magic - as you shall see. If anyone actually read to the end of this thing... You Are Awesome! Lots of brownie points and invisible lollipops!**

**And now the summary! I realize this is a lot of talking...**

_**A young woman finds herself lost and alone in a strange world immediately after receiving the news that her beloved brother has disappeared. She is rescued by a mysterious man, and eventually joins him in his fight against the deepening darkness. What will become of the Fellowship with the addition of this strange woman? And what affect will others have on the War of the Ring, when they begin to appear?**_

**Not sure that summary is a whole lot better, but there you go...**

She sagged against a rock. It had been weeks now. Would she ever see him again? She was lost without him. It felt as though without him a part of her was gone.

_Technically, that's accurate…_

She forced herself to keep moving. She was weaponless, and weary. Defenseless. Without a weapon, she had been unable to hunt successfully, and had been reduced to eating certain mosses that she knew were edible. Without proper food, her strength was waning. As she didn't have a weapon, her only chance if she got in trouble was flight – but she was no longer strong enough for that. Well she did have one other option, but she wasn't strong enough for that either. She heard the wolves howl behind her. They had been tracing her all day. She had lost them earlier by hiding her scent in several streams, but they had found her again. With no way to fight and no strength to run, she knew she was doomed.

Hours later, she finally gave in. The wolves were almost on her now. They were going to get her any moment; a few more steps would make no difference. Sinking against a tree, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable. _I wish I could have seen him, just one more time. I wish I could have said goodbye._ She could hear their snarling breath as they slunk through the trees, the leaves that snapped and crackled under their paws. Suddenly their aggressive growls turned to yips and howls of fear and pain. She opened her eyes. Two wolves lay dead where they had fallen, arrows in their sides. And between her and the remaining wolves stood a man, sword in hand.

He fought the whole pack, using only his sword. Not an easy feat – there must have been about twenty wolves. He was a very good fighter; she would know. She had been taught by the best. Finally the pack gave up, after at least five more wolves lay dead on the snow, and left to find prey that wasn't so well defended. The man sheathed his sword and came to her, kneeling down beside her. He spoke to her, but she didn't understand.

She tried to speak, but couldn't even make the words come out. So she just shook her head slightly when he spoke again, and hoped he would understand. But the tiny movement made her dizzy, and the edge of her vision began fading. She felt the man reach out and steady her, and then blacked out. As she lost consciousness she cried aloud.

She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed unable to. "Come now lady, it is alright. Do not try to speak, you are very weak. You are safe now. I will take care of you." She shook her head slightly, and then swayed a little as though the movement had made her dizzy. Her eyes were dim and clouded, and he realized she was losing consciousness – quickly he reached to steady her. Before she was quite gone she cried, "Peter!" This was clearly a name, although a rather unusual one. He caught her as she fell. Lifting her gently, he carried her to a nearby cave that his people often used when they passed through the area. Once there, he lit a fire, then focused all his efforts on reviving the mysterious woman. _Who is she, and how did she come to be alone in the wilds, so far from any human life?_

She groaned softly as she regained consciousness. She ached all over, but couldn't remember why. And the surface she lay on was hard, unlike her lovely bed. She must have fallen asleep reading by the fire again. Her eyes were still closed, but she heard movement in the room, and sleepily murmured, "Cami? Can you draw me a hot bath? I don't remember what I was did yesterday, but I'm so sore…" She heard more movement, and then a soft husky voice spoke to her, in a language she couldn't understand. At the same time, a cool damp cloth was gently pressed to her forehead. She gasped and opened her eyes. At the sight of the man who knelt beside her, all her memories came flooding back. Tears pooled in her eyes as she remembered where she was, and that he was not here with her. The man continued speaking, the sound strangely soothing, as he changed the cloth on her head. She stared up at him fearfully, and tried to pull away. He quickly restrained her, then paused, seeming to realize that she was afraid. Standing, he backed up and sat on a rock beside a small fire. He continued speaking softly, clearly trying to calm her.

After a while she said, "You know that I don't understand you, right?" He only looked at her, and then shook his head slightly. Clearly he didn't understand her any more than she understood him. She tried to sit up, and immediately he was kneeling beside her again, gently holding her down, and shaking his head vigorously. She stopped fighting him and lay quietly. He nodded, and again withdrew, this time to the far side of the fire where he did something on the ground. The light of the fire wouldn't allow her to see what he was doing.

When he came back to her, he was carrying a small bowl full of some sort of plant concoction, and a water skin. He offered her a drink, which she gladly took, and then got her to eat the contents of the bowl. She decided that he did not intend to hurt her, not yet at least. There wasn't much she could do even if he did, she was too weak. He covered her with his cloak, and then began to sing softly. He was clearly gifted; his voice was strong and clear, and the song was mesmerizing. She fell asleep at last, listening to him sing.

She finally fell asleep. He adjusted the cloak she was wrapped in, and sat back against the wall of the cave, wondering what to do. She would not be strong enough to travel for at least a week, but he did not have enough provisions to last that long. He didn't dare leave her to go hunting – she was defenseless. He might block the entrance to the cave to protect her when he was gone, but if he was afraid that if he left her alone she might try to move around and end up actually hurting herself. He could go while she was asleep, but he had no idea when she might wake. If she woke and found herself alone, she was likely to panic. Try as he might, he simply could not find a workable solution. He would have to settle for less than perfect.

Having made up his mind, he quietly slipped out of the cave. If she were ever going to sleep for hours without waking, it would be now while she was so weak and exhausted. Carefully blocking the entrance, he then disappeared in the night. At dawn he returned from hunting – cold and tired, but successful. When he reentered the cave, he found her still asleep. Relieved, he set about the messy task of cleaning the rabbits he had caught. There was enough meat to feed them until she was strong enough to travel a little. The knife rang against a stone and he winced, hoping the sound didn't disturb her sleep. He glanced up when she stirred, but returned to his task when she did not appear to wake.

When she heard the man return she pretended to be asleep. She had no idea how long he had been gone, but he hadn't been there when she had woken up. Instead of panicking, she had simply waited to see what would happen. Now he set something on the ground, and then bent over her for a moment.

_Can he tell I'm faking? Probably not, __he__ couldn't even tell most of the time, and always said I was a good actor._

She heard him settle down on the other side of the fire, doing something with a knife that caused it to ring against a stone. She shifted slightly, nervous again. Who was he, and what was he doing way out here in the middle of nowhere? Of course she was grateful that he had saved her, but… When he stopped what he was doing, she realized that he had heard her shift. She shifted again slightly, and sighed softly, as though deep in sleep. She would 'wake up' later; right now she needed time to think. Instead of thinking however, she fell into the land of dreams.

_She was running through the woods, laughing. She could hear him laughing behind her, and his footsteps, faster than her own. Suddenly she tripped, strong arms catching her before she hit the ground._

_ "__Need a hand?" He asked teasingly, his eyes sparkling._

_ "__Peter! Put me down!"_

_ "__Ok." He grinned, dropping her the remaining foot or so to the ground._

_ "__Hey!" She cried, laughing. "I said put me down, not __drop__ me!"_

_ "__Can't have it both ways, lil' sis!"_

_She pouted. "You're so mean…"_

_ "__Mean?" He pounced, tickling her till she gasped for breath. "Are you sure I'm mean?"_

_ "__No! No! You're not mean! You're the nicest, most wonderful brother anyone could ever have!"_

_He grinned, ceasing his tickling. "That's better."_

_She jumped up and took off running again, shouting, "No fair tickling me to make me say something! You're still mean!"_

_ "__Oh, really?" He called as he chased her again. He caught her right on the bank of the brook, holding her over the water._

_ "__Are you sure I'm mean?"_

_ "__You wouldn't dare!"_

_ "__Oh wouldn't I? Come on, just say it…"_

_ "__Oh no! You won't, Susan will have your head if you wreck my dress! I'm not saying anything!"_

_ "__Ok." He said cheerfully, giving her a wicked grin. Then he dropped her in the brook._

_ "__Peter James –!" She screamed as she hit the water. Flailing about, she managed to pull herself out despite her now soaked skirts. He was lying on the bank, laughing hysterically._

_ "__Oh Ar! You should have seen your face…" He trailed off in another burst of laughter._

_ "__Peter…" She half sang, "You are the most terrible brother in the world – but I love you anyway. Want a hug?"_

_He jumped up and backed away, still laughing. "No thanks!"_

_ "__Are you sure?" She asked, still in her singsong voice._

_ "__Very sure!"_

_ "__I could really use a hug right now…" she whined pleadingly._

_ "__Too bad!" He grinned, still backing away._

_Moments later their earlier places were reversed; she was chasing her brother through the woods as he ran and shouted in mock terror._


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I realize that the last chapter was probably a bit confusing with the constant back and forth of POV. I'll find a way to make the switch more obvious... I did have a way, but apparently Fanfiction didn't like it. Trying something new in this chapter, we'll see what works. I don't want to just label them as someone's POV, because the story is not told in first-person. For now, please bear with me.**

**By the way you might want a language guide...**

He heard her breathing change and smiled wryly as he realized that she must have been awake – only faking sleep. Oh well, it really made no difference. She was asleep now. He worked in silence; setting the game he had caught over the coals to cook slowly, and creating a small wooden rack to smoke what meat remained.

When the sun was high in the sky he went to wake her. He touched her shoulder, trying to wake her up, but she didn't move. He now noticed that she had a slight smile on her face, as though her dreams were pleasant. Seeing this, he hesitated to bring her back to cold reality, but knew that if she were to recover her strength she had to eat and drink regularly. This was most important now, when she was so very weak. Gently, he shook her awake.

When she opened her eyes he drew back, not wanting to frighten her.

"You must wake up now, lady. If you are to regain your strength you must eat. Here, let me help you sit up, and then as I have refilled the water skin you must drink a little."

As he spoke he carefully reached out, assisting her in her efforts to sit. Clearly she had been on the point of death when he found her, if she was still so weak after eating earlier and sleeping for so long. When she was upright he produced the waterskin and made certain she drank enough. He then brought some of the meat he had cooked, and ate as she did. When she was finished she was obviously exhausted, and he helped her to lie down again.

Although he expected her to fall asleep almost right away, for the next half hour she lay and watched him as he worked. He had taken his extra shirt and cloak out of his pack, and set about making them wearable for someone her size. His experience with hunting was actually a help with this, as it allowed him to gauge size and weight fairly accurately. In the end he had made the shirt and sleeves short enough for her, and taken it in enough that it would not be awkward or a burden of sorts as she tried to move. The cloak he also shortened; she was significantly shorter than him. She was a tall woman, but he was a tall man – considered unusually tall, even for one of his race. Although he did not enjoy sewing, he was fairly skilled with a needle; skilled enough to perform this operation, at least. There was no one but himself to mend and fix his clothes in the wild, and so he had learned to do so long ago.

Finally he laid his work aside and knelt by her once more.

"You must sleep lady. You must regain your strength. I cannot care for you here for long, we must move on to better lands. This is a dangerous country. Sleep. I will do you no harm."

She did not respond, only stared at him. After a moment, she slowly shook her head. She did not understand. He sighed softly, passing a hand over his eyes in frustration. Then he stood and moved to his own side of the fire, lying down and closing his eyes. He needed rest. He would not sleep, not until he had blocked the door of the cave. But he could rest while waking, and if he appeared to be asleep – 1. She might get the idea that she should be sleeping. 2. She might feel more at ease about sleeping since she did not know the intentions of the man who saved her. His appearance probably didn't help her opinion of him, he thought wryly. He knew that after three months in the wilds, he probably looked rather like a wild man himself.

When he finally regathered his thoughts and opened his eyes, she was still awake and watching him. With another soft sigh he gave up. Moving to the mouth of the cave, he carefully blocked it up to prevent any animals from attempting entry. Day was the safest time in the wilds; at night there was always the danger of orcs or trolls but these creatures couldn't move during the day. Most animals prowled at night as well. He would sleep during the day and watch at night, following his usual pattern. Returning to the fire, he allowed real sleep to come.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

She watched as he blocked the entrance of the cave, and then lay down again. She could tell that this time he actually slept. She closed her eyes with a plaintive sigh. Although she was so tired and desperately wanted to sleep, sleep refused to come. Off and on for the rest of the day she dozed lightly, staring at the remains of the fire. Fire. If only she had her stone… She reached under her shirt for the gem hanging on a string about her neck. It was still there. She shifted carefully, trying to come close to the fire. She glanced up at the man, but he did not stir as she fought to reach her goal. She could wake him up, and he would help her closer to the fire – but she could not trust him with this secret. Well, maybe he was trustworthy, but she didn't know for sure. Her gaze flicked to him again as he shifted slightly, but he seemed to still be sleeping, and she looked to the fire again.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

He woke to the slight sound of movement. From long practice, he kept his eyes shut and his breathing even. She was moving toward the fire by the sound of it, or at least trying to. What was she doing? As the soft sounds continued, he shifted slightly, as though in sleep, turning his face toward her. He heard her pause, then continue. He slit his eyes open, and observed her efforts for a moment. She was struggling to reach the fire. Why? In her one hand she held a gemstone, hanging from a necklace. As she looked to him again he closed his eyes completely, grateful that the fire was in between and shielded his face from her gaze. After a moment he watched her again.

He would have moved to help her, but if she had wanted help she would have woken him. He felt guilty for watching without her knowledge, but a man who knew every detail of what happened around him was a live man. A man who failed to observe everything was very foolish indeed, and wouldn't last long in the wilds. As he didn't know who she was, and why or how she had come to be here, it was best to be cautious.

She finally ceased her efforts with a soft cry of frustration, having moved only a couple feet. The fire was still out of reach. He wrestled with himself for a moment, then opened his eyes and stood. Crossing to her side, he gently lifted her and set her down again right beside the fire she had tried so desperately to reach. She looked up at him accusingly. He shrugged slightly and closed his eyes; reaching up he touched his ear. When he looked at her again he saw that she understood.

It wasn't entirely truthful; he had been watching her. But it had been the sounds of her struggle that had awakened him. She simply sat; leaning on the stone he had set her beside, and staring into the fire. The necklace was in her clenched hand, and he realized she must not want him to see it. Every now and again she glanced at him, as though weighing whether or not she should continue with what she had intended to do now that she knew he was awake.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Of course he had been awake. She doubted that he had merely been listening; undoubtedly he had been watching her as well. If that were true, then there was no point in hiding her stone. But if he hadn't noticed it… Either way, she finally decided, she would simply have to do it anyway. She needed her strength, and if she tried to wait until he was asleep – who knew when he would actually sleep again, especially if he thought she was trying to hide something. Having made up her mind, she reached out to the fire.

After a moment's hesitation, she plunged her hand straight into the heart of the flames. The man at her side shifted slightly, no doubt thinking she was crazy, but he made no other response. For that at least, she was grateful. If he had freaked out and removed her from the fire, and kept her away from the fire afterward… well, it didn't matter, that wasn't happening. She picked up a live coal, smiling slightly at the familiar heat. How many times had she done this before? Closing her fist around the piece of fire, she drew it out, and immediately touched it to her stone. She shut her eyes, thinking the song since she didn't dare actually sing it – the less the man knew, the better. When she opened them again the blue stone was turning red, with swirls of its normal color mixed in. She clenched her fist around the stone, dropping the coal back into the fire. Again she thought the song, and the swirls of blue disappeared. Knowing that the stone was now a glowing golden red, she opened her hand, and touched the gem to her chest, directly over her heart. It would work more quickly without her clothes in the way, but obviously she wouldn't disrobe with this man watching. She leaned back and waited for it to work. Already she felt the warmth flow through her, and felt her strength return. As it healed her, the stone slowly lost the red-gold glow, becoming blue once more. When it was finally back to its original color, she once more hung it about her neck.

She took a deep breath. This was probably not going to go over well. In one fluid motion, she stood. The man beside her stood as well, his eyes flicking from her face to the stone that hung about her neck, and back to her face. He nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. Self-consciously she slipped the stone down under the collar of her shirt again.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

He watched the strange stone fade back to blue. Moments later she stood, seeming to have regained her full strength. He stood also, his mind reeling. What had just happened?

_Think it through calmly. She wanted to get to the fire so that she could heal herself. Reasonable enough. She was able to pick up a live coal from the center of the fire – seemingly without pain. That is not reasonable, but I'll worry about it later. She used the gem and the fire to heal herself. I don't know how it worked, but evidently it did. Now she is well again. In that case she can travel… I will take her to Rivendell. Hopefully Elrond will know something, at the very least I know that she will be safe there._

He nodded slowly at this thought, making his decision. They would set out for Rivendell right away. They were about three weeks out from Bree, and from there it was an additional two weeks to Rivendell. There were still several hours of daylight; they might make a good start today. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they reached the elves, the better. With this in mind, he quickly stowed his gear in his pack and put out the fire, then put the altered cloak and shirt in her hands. Gesturing for her to put them on over what she was wearing already, he turned and began to unblock the mouth of the cave.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I realized that I said I'd put a better summary inside. And then I didn't do it. So, if anyone cares to go back and read the summary at this point in the story, I have officially added a summary to the author's note at the beginning of the first chapter. I still think it's pretty lame, but it was the best I could come up with. Maybe when the story's finished, I'll have some sort of contest to see who can come up with the best summary. I think that would be pretty cool.**

**Also, in the last chapter I posted a language guide. Which FanFiction inexplicably decided to delete. (Or maybe I managed that on my own somehow.) So, have another one!**

Normal - _thoughts, memories or dreams _- {elvish} - [Amator language - for which I don't have a decent name, so if anyone thinks of something, be sure to let me know!] - **A/N, Sauron, Ring**

**Anyway, here the chapter... Sorry it took me this long!**

_Previously:_

_ There were still several hours of daylight; they might make a good start today. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they reached the elves, the better. With this in mind, he quickly stowed his gear in his pack and put out the fire, then put the altered cloak and shirt in her hands. Gesturing for her to put them on over what she was wearing already, he turned and began to unblock the mouth of the cave._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

He seemed to suddenly come to a decision, and quickly packed up his things and kicked the fire apart. Then he gave her the clothes he had been working on earlier, and gestured for her to put them on. Without waiting to see if she did so (or was it to give her some privacy?) he turned to the door of the cave, unblocking it. She quickly pulled the shirt on over what she was wearing already, then stooped and picked up one of the few coals that still glowed softly. It glowed brightly again as she touched it. She took out the small metal box that he had given her for just this purpose and set the coal in it. Hiding the box among her clothes, she quickly donned the cloak. She paused to observe the clasp, unaware of the man's gaze. He had seen her take the coal, and had she seen his face at that moment she would have seen a look of wonder and puzzlement. But she did not look up, and he steeled his face again.

She inspected the clasp, unsure why it had made her pause. It was a simple clasp made of silver and shaped like a rayed star with no special adornment. But, however simple the symbol, it seemed wholesome – not like something a servant of evil would bear. She looked to the man. He was waiting by the mouth of the cave. His meaning was clear: now that she was strong enough, they were traveling. She let out a soft breath, and slipped out of the cave ahead of him. He followed her, and then led the way through the trees.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

They had been traveling for a week now. It had snowed on the third day, and the wilderness they travelled through was now a winter wonderland. Although they couldn't speak to each other, they found that gestures conveyed most of the conversation they needed. She found herself trusting him more as time went on – he was obviously concerned about her well-being. While he clearly wanted to reach wherever they were going as quickly as possible he was very careful of her, refusing to let her travel longer than he thought she could bear. He did not know her very well, she thought wryly, or he wouldn't have been so concerned. She could keep going long after most men were ready to collapse.

However, she did not try to argue. The pain of losing him was still fresh, and she was grateful for the short marches and frequent halts. She would sit staring into the distance, aware that the man's eyes were on her the whole time. He was clearly becoming more and more worried about her. She glanced up from gazing at the mountain range in the distance to find him watching her yet again, concern evident in his eyes. He knelt down beside her and spoke quietly, his concern easily heard in his voice as well. The words had the tone of a question; she guessed what he said easily enough. He was asking if she was all right. She smiled softly and shook her head slightly. She was fine physically, but no. She was not all right. She would not be all right until he was here with her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Even though he knew she didn't understand his language, he knelt beside her and asked quietly, "Lady, you spend your time staring into the distance. Are you well?" She did nothing for a moment, only met his eyes. He saw a mist of tears. After a moment she smiled softly at him, but at the same time she shook her head gently. She seemed to have understood that he was concerned, but what was she telling him?

"What is wrong, lady? Why do you weep?"

She again just smiled and shook her head. Of course he couldn't expect anything else, she didn't know what he was saying. And he didn't know what she was trying to say. She watched his face for a moment, clearly wanting him to understand. When she knew that he didn't, she stood up and walked over to the edge of the hill they were resting on. He stayed where he was and watched. She did nothing, only gazed out at the wilderness – until she seemed to suddenly come to a decision.

Returning to his side, she knelt down and pulled out the metal box he had seen her put the coal in a week ago. She also untied the string about her neck, holding the gem in her hand. With one quick motion she opened the box and removed the still glowing coal. How is it possible that the fire still lives?

She began to hum, and then sing softly, and touched the coal to the gem as she had before. It once again began to glow and turn red. She replaced the coal in the box, and tucked the box away again. This time, however, when the gem no longer showed any trace of blue, she touched it to her forehead instead of her chest. She closed her eyes and ceased her song, though she did begin to hum again. Her voice wavered slightly and then her hand trembled as she held the stone in place. To his horror, he realized she was becoming weaker. Was she taking her own life?

As he was about to disrupt her and pull the gemstone away, it finished its change back to its original color and she removed it herself. She looked up at him and saw the concern evident on his face; smiling slightly, she said softly, "It took a great deal more energy than I expected. I have never used this" here she looked down at the gem in her hand "for anything but healing before. I hope it worked… can you understand me?"

He was sure his face must have shown his shock, and by her response it was evident that he was right. She smiled again and said, "I take it that you do. Good. I should hate to expend so much strength and have it not work." At last he found his voice.

"Lady… who are you?"

"That is the most important question to you right now?"

"I have never seen such things as you have done with this gem."

She turned and scanned the horizon again.

"I did not think that you probably had."

"Will you not answer my question?"

"Tell me first who you are, why you helped me, and where you are taking me."

He looked at her for a long moment, and then said, "Fair enough. As I am a man, and a warrior, I will answer first. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn; the Captain of the Rangers of the North. The clasp on the cloak you wear, which interested you so much a week ago when first you saw it, is the symbol of my people. I helped you because you were in need, and I continue to do so because you still have need. I am taking you to Rivendell, for that is where I was going when I found you and I know that there you will be safe."

She turned back to him and watched his face for a moment. He guessed that she was looking for any hint of a lie. He kept his face open and readable, knowing that he had nothing to hide. After her silent scrutiny, she spoke.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

He seemed to be telling the truth. She was very good at detecting a lie when she wanted to be, and she saw not even the slightest hint of falsehood in his eyes. His face showed no nervousness, nor did it become an unreadable mask under her gaze. She finally concluded that he truly meant what he said.

"My name is Adara. Have you any other questions for me?"

"Naturally I would like to know the nature of the magic by which you first healed yourself and now we are able to each understand the speech of the other…"

"Some questions I may choose not to answer. Know, however, that it is no evil thing."

"I had expected no other answer. Will you tell me then, Lady Adara, how you came to be alone and in such a state as I found you, so far from any human habitation?"

"I…I'm not entirely sure how I got there. One moment I was in my home, the next in the wilderness. My family disappeared, my brother… I had just received the news…" She looked away, tears threatening to spill. After a moment she turned back, her emotions concealed. "I was alone and weaponless. I had no means of hunting, and you know that there is little wild food to be found at this time of year. I ate only mosses and the occasional tuber for nearly five weeks. That is why I was so weak, why I did not have the energy to fight or even flee the wolves."

"For five weeks? You survived on mosses for five weeks, in this cold?" He sounded absolutely astonished.

"It was the cold that made me so weak, else I could have gone longer. I am far stronger than you think."

"No man could do as much, Lady. How is it possible that a woman can?"

She almost laughed at that.

The women in this place must be like the Tarkeenas! I know that men are physically stronger than women, but he sounds as though he thought all women completely weak and completely helpless!

Her amusement must have shown on her face, because the man Aragorn looked confused now.

"Not all women are weak. And I doubt that you have ever met a woman like me. At my full strength I am stronger than most males are in the prime of their life."

"I did not mean to imply that I thought all women weak, I pray you forgive my clumsy speech. But that a woman should be so much stronger physically than any man is a strange thing to me."

"As I said, I doubt you have ever met a woman quite like me. My strength is very unusual even for one of my race."

"And what is your race, Lady? If I may ask?"

"You may ask what you wish. I simply may or may not choose to answer. In this case I will answer most questions, as long as it is understood that this conversation is confidential. You have saved my life and continue to help me, therefore I trust you. But I do not wish to have any other know my words."

"I will tell no one, so long as I know that you will not turn on my people or the ones we protect."

"I am not a witch. And I abhor treachery. I will not use your word against you." Adara said, almost sternly.

"Then I am silent."

"I am the last of my people. We are known as the Nuada, or more rarely as the Anil, but we call ourselves the Amator. We are workers of magic; all the power of the earth was given to us long ago. Such magic can be only used for good – to heal, and protect. I possess the powers of water, fire, and shadow, if I depend on my magic alone. But the stone you have seen me use is the Dejen – the foundation my people. As long as the stone exists, we will not fully die out. It contains all the powers my people have ever been able to use, and our leader wields it. As I alone am left, I now bear it – blessing and burden."

He was silent a moment, then said quietly, "I have never heard of your people. What lands have they inhabited?"

She watched his face as she replied. "My people walk the worlds. We have been inhabitants of nine different worlds now, and it is entirely possible that this is a world in which we have never been. The land I was born in – the only land I have ever known – is the land of Astî, better known as Narnia." **(Author's note: C. did not use the name Astî in any of his books about Narnia. It is a name that I used solely for the purposes of this story. It means peace/tranquility, if anyone is interested in knowing.)**

His face showed no recognition, and she sighed slightly, turning away from him again.

"It is as I thought. You have never heard of that land. I am no longer in my native world, and I have no knowledge of how to return."

"Perhaps your stone would return you?"

"Probably. I don't doubt that it would, actually. But I don't know how to use it for that purpose. Simply using it to make me understand your language was incredibly difficult."

"Then we must continue to Rivendell. It is the city of Lord Elrond, one of the High Elves of Middle Earth. If there is one who knows of your people, or knows how you may return to your own land, doubtless it is he."

She took a deep breath, and looked to him again.

"Then let us be going."

**Thalion Estel: was your guess correct? :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_Previously..._

_ "__Then we must continue to Rivendell. It is the city of Lord Elrond, one of the High Elves of Middle Earth. If there is one who knows of your people, or knows how you may return to your own land, doubtless it is he."_

_She took a deep breath, and looked to him again._

_ "__Then let us be going."_

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

In another two weeks they reached Bree. Adara seemed to become nervous as they drew close, and Aragorn suggested that she leave her hood up so that no one would know she was a woman. They might pass with less notice if they were both thought to be men. She did as he said. It was now in her favor that the cloak was still a little too big, as it better hid her shape. He also instructed her not to speak, for anyone who heard her voice would immediately know she was a woman; which would raise many questions. If she had something to say, she must say it very softly to him, and he would speak for her. To this she agreed as well.

They received several dark looks as they entered the Prancing Pony Inn. She shrank even farther into the cloak she wore.

"Do not be afraid." He said softly enough that only her ears caught the words. "I am not well liked in Bree, but no one will harm you. The Rangers are here seen as dangerous folk; the inhabitants of this town have no idea of the service we render them in protecting their borders. They think we are strange men, because we wander the wilds alone. We do not here give our true names, and so the locals give us such names as they see fit. In Bree I am called Strider."

"So what will you call me?"

"I will simply call you friend. If they give you a name, I pray you will not be offended by it – it is not likely they will pick something flattering."

"I don't really care what they call me…"

Aragorn smiled, and turned away from her to face the innkeeper.

"Well, if it isn't Strider. Haven't seen you around these parts for several months! Who is your friend? Someone we know?" The fat man asked.

"No. You have not before had the pleasure of his presence."

"Oh? Pity. Welcome to the Prancing Pony, stranger. And what might your name be?"

Adara did not answer, but glanced at Aragorn. The innkeeper was watching eagerly, but could not see her eyes under the hood that hid her face, try as he might.

"He is my friend. That is all you need know." Aragorn answered quietly. "He will need a room."

"You aren't staying Strider?"

"I will be sleeping in the common room tonight." Seeing that the innkeeper was about to question him, he quickly added, "Never mind the reason, Barliman."

"Alright, it's your business, not mine."

Aragorn paid for the room and handed Adara the key the innkeeper gave him. Taking her elbow, he guided her into the common room. She blinked against the smoke in the air, willing herself not to cough. After a moment she grew used to the haze. They had a bite to eat in the corner, away from the noisy crowd in the rest of the room, and then Aragorn lit his pipe.

Adara leaned close to Aragorn and whispered, "I thought you said you were looked down on in Bree."

He nodded, still surveying the room, so she said, "The innkeeper was pretty respectful…"

He smiled grimly and muttered, "They are respectful to my face, for they fear me. Barliman is no exception. Besides – he was curious. But surely you have seen the looks those gathered here have been giving us when they think I do not see."

"I hadn't noticed. Honestly, I wasn't really paying attention to any of them."

"Pay attention. They fear me, not you, for they have no idea who you are. But they have seen me fight. That fear is the only thing that keeps them from attempting to throw us out into the night. If we are parted, I doubt they would hesitate to attack you."

"Then they should find that Strider's friend is perhaps as much to be feared as Strider himself."

He turned to her, surprise in his eyes. "But you have no weapon."

"I have my power. Not for all things must I depend on the Dejen. Many times in the wild my power saved my life, but when I become so weak as I was when you found me, I have not the strength to use it."

"You said you have power with water, and shadows. How can you defend yourself with these?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed softly, and replied, "You forgot fire, and that is a most useful one. But I can certainly use the others to defend myself as well."

Then, taking a deep breath, she whispered something – and disappeared. He started, and heard her laugh again. The sound came from right beside him as it had before, but there was nothing there. A moment later, she was there again. He simply stared, before asking, "Was that… did you become a shadow?"

She nodded, mirth in her eyes. Gaily she exclaimed, though still softly, "Oh! You should have seen your face!"

He smiled. "I suppose it would likely terrify the locals to have the person they were attacking disappear so. Phantom, they would name you – and probably Sorcerer."

"I've been called worse. Let's just hope it does not come to that. I'll stick close to you, then they won't have an opportunity to find out I can disappear."

"That seems a wise plan." He replied with a wry smile. "Perhaps you had better stay in shadow form while you sleep, since I will be down here."

"Why are you sleeping down here anyway?"

"Decorum. For us to share a fire in the wild is one thing, but to share a room in an inn is another, even though I would, of course, sleep on the floor. If it were to get out in Bree that you are a woman, I should be shunned to my face, and so should you if you came through Bree again. Our reputations would both be ruined – and the talk would not stay within the confines of Bree."

She nodded. "Understood. Rumor has a way of spreading."

"Precisely."

They were silent for a time, each thinking their own thoughts as they watched the crowd in the room. Now that she was watching them, Adara noticed the looks people were giving them. She saw one group in particular, several rough, sleazy looking men who were dressed differently than the others in the room, exchanging money as they watched the two in the corner. Then one of the men muttered something that caused all the others to laugh uproariously. He grimaced at the sound, and moved toward Adara and the ranger. She sensed Aragorn tense beside her, and glanced at him. He was watching the man approach with narrowed eyes.

"Do not speak. Whatever you do, do not reveal yourself. Do not use your power if it can be reasonably avoided, but don't hesitate to use it if anyone so much as touches you. Your disguise will not last long in a fight." He told her in a low voice. She only nodded. Using her cloak to shield the movement, she carefully slipped her hand to his belt and drew the knife he wore on his right hip, hiding it in her own cloak. He glanced at her sharply as she removed it, but nodded slightly and said nothing. Now she was not weaponless. They should have thought of that sooner.

" 'Ello. They say you're called Strider." The man sneered.

Aragorn bowed his head slightly, but said nothing.

"Odd name." He grunted. "Who's your friend, hm?"

Again, Aragorn did not answer.

"Not feeling talkative are we? I heard you're staying in the common tonight. That so?"

Aragorn still said nothing. Emboldened by the silence, the man pressed on, turning to Adara.

"Your friend's not so polite. Didn't his Mama teach him it's rude to ignore somebody who's talking to him?"

She did nothing, but looked to Aragorn. She could tell from the tenseness of his jaw that he was angry, but he did not move. The man sneered again.

"What's your name, huh? You another one of them Rangers?"

Adara moved for the first time, lightly touching the clasp of her cloak. She wasn't a ranger – but he didn't need to know that. When the man saw the design his eyes narrowed, and his gaze flicked to the clasp of the cloak Aragorn wore. He muttered something under his breath on seeing that they were the same.

"So you're a Ranger. What's your name?"

She ignored him, and Aragorn spoke for the first time.

"Leave my friend alone." He said simply.

"He speaks!" The man jeered. "I was beginning to wonder if you were even able to."

They both ignored him, and Aragorn said quietly to her in the elven tongue (they had discovered that whatever magic the Dejen held that had enabled her to understand the common speech also let her understand every other language she heard) {"He is not from Bree, and does not know the native fear of Rangers. His dress shows him to be from farther south; were he from Bree he would not dare be so bold. I believe he and his friends heard that Rangers are dangerous folk and made some sort of bet. Did you see when they exchanged money?"}

She nodded slightly.

"Hey!" The man cried. "Speak a language we all can understand. What did you say to him?"

Aragorn raised his head and leveled the man with an even stare. "I was telling my friend that you are clearly not from Bree, else you had shown a little more respect as the inhabitants of this town are wont to do."

The man glared at the Ranger. "Show a little more respect? Show a little more respect?! Who's not showing respect? You refused to answer me. I've shown you all the respect you deserve." He growled.

Aragorn stood. "I have no wish for a fight of any sort. Simply leave my friend and I in peace."

The innkeeper ran over, wringing his apron in distress and crying, "Please sirs! Do not provoke the Ranger in my inn. If you want to fight, do it outside! Leave my guests alone!"

The man sneered yet again.

_Didn't his mother ever tell him that his face might freeze like that?_

"Shut up Barliman." He hissed.

"We are all guests in the establishment of this man." Aragorn told him coldly. "I suggest that you respect his wishes as we do." He turned to Adara. "Come friend. Let us find more decent company."

She stood to follow him, but the man suddenly lunged, catching her shoulder. "Cowards!" He jeered. "Face me if you dare!"

The whole inn was immediately silent, waiting for the stranger's reaction.

Adara looked to Aragorn, clearly asking if she ought to use her powers as he'd said, and he nodded. She turned on the man who was holding her, and unceremoniously kneed his stomach. He grunted in surprise, but did not release her, tightening his grip instead. She smiled slightly under her hood, the sight of which made his blood run cold, and twisted suddenly in his grip, touching first his chest and then his hand. He screamed in agony and released her, and Adara took half a step away from him, at the same time ending the burning pain she was causing him. He stood straight again, bellowed at her, and charged. She sidestepped neatly, so that he crashed into one of the pillars supporting the ceiling, and waited until he picked himself up and turned back to her. Then – she vanished.

A chorus of gasps sounded through the room, and everyone turned to Aragorn for an explanation. Several people cried at once, "Where did he go?" or "Witchcraft!"

Aragorn answered unconcerned, "He does not appreciate such treatment as he has received at the hands of this Southerner." He turned to the man, who was clutching the shoulder he had hurt when she sidestepped. "Be glad that you are not hurt worse than you are. He is not unarmed. Learn to respect the Rangers. We are feared mostly without cause, for men deem us wild and dangerous – wild we are not. Dangerous we certainly are – but only to those who prey on the weak and helpless. Or lack common courtesy and unduly provoke and attack us. In the future, keep your hands to yourself."

Adara (still hidden by shadows) whispered in Aragorn's ear, "I will go up to the room. No need to cause even more commotion."

He nodded slightly and said in elvish, {"Very well. I do not think that you shall be troubled again, by my side or alone. I am no longer the only one they fear. It saddens me that their fear is necessary, but if it must be, it must be. Go then."}

The hubbub in the room rose when they heard him speaking in a tongue they did not know; to no one they could see.

She touched his arm and stooped beside the man she had fought, who was, after the manner of a true coward, crouched on the floor and whimpering in pain and fear. To him she whispered (knowing that at a whisper her voice would not give her away as a woman), "Am I a coward? I dare to face you, and now you fear me. Do not be too hasty in the future." He paled visibly at the sound of her voice, and began to tremble. Having spoken to him, she stood and strode out of the room, leaving Aragorn to deal with the accusations of witchcraft.

"It is not witchcraft!" He cried above the rising din. No one seemed to heed him, and he sighed. He drew his sword in a flash and shouted, "Be silent!" The crowd was shocked into obedience. "That's better," he muttered just loud enough for those nearby to hear, and sheathed his sword. Then he said aloud "It is not witchcraft."

"Then what is it? No man can simply disappear from sight!" One of the Southerner's friends cried.

"No, there you are right. As far as I am aware there is no mortal man who can do such a thing. But among the other peoples? The elves have many strange gifts, and there are peoples who have even stranger abilities. My friend will not endanger any person with this gift, unless he is duly provoked. Even here he has shown mercy. He had every right to kill this Southerner, for he was not only insulted and threatened, but even challenged. Yet he spared his life, and left him with no lasting injury."

"What sort of person is your friend?" A Bree-lander asked carefully.

"My friend is not evil."

"But what race is he? Is he elvish?"

"No. Trouble yourself not with guessing, for I guarantee you have not heard of this people before, and you will not learn of them from me. This I will say, and nothing else, among that people my friend's gift is a common thing, of little matter or concern. There are many of that people who have the same ability, and far stranger ones. Now peace! Return to your places. I apologize, Barliman, for disrupting your profits this night, but I believe I am not wrong to suppose the loss will be more than made up as your worthy townsfolk gather on other evenings to discuss these strange happenings. As for you–" Here he turned to the Southerners, "–get you gone. If you are staying at this establishment, then off to your rooms. If not – leave the premises at once. But either way, leave my sight. I have no desire to lay eyes on you again."

The crowd murmured at this command, but quickly dispersed. The Southerners gathered up their friend and disappeared to their rooms, the townsfolk went back to their own hearths, and very soon the only ones left in the common room were paying guests who had no desire to return to their rooms just yet. They all bunched around the fire at the opposite end of the room from Aragorn.

The innkeeper stammered an apology to his guest for the way he and his friend had been treated, clearly afraid of retaliation. Aragorn gave him a courteous reply – making it clear that he did not hold anyone responsible for the Southerner's actions but the guilty man himself. Barliman returned to his counter, much relieved, and watched as Aragorn wrapped himself in his cloak and settled down in the corner of the room. One by one the other guests left, and finally the innkeeper as well. Thankfully, the rest of the night was uneventful – though Aragorn hardly slept.

The next morning, after the day's bustle had already begun and the common room was filling quickly, Adara entered the room in search of her friend. The hum of noise immediately shut off, and she found herself faced with fearful stares and glares. Evidently word had already spread and most were not convinced by Aragorn's answer to the allegations of witchcraft. She quickly scanned the room; seeing her friend rise from his seat in the corner, she made her way toward him.

They met about halfway through the room and Aragorn took her arm, guiding her to a table where he made sure that she ate in spite of the watchful eyes in the room. She leaned close to him as she finished and said softly, "I think we had better be on our way… And I will not look for welcome should I ever come through Bree again."

He gave her a wry smile and muttered, "Did you look for welcome you would surely receive none. Before we go on I should like to get you a dagger of your own. Speaking of which, might I have mine back now?"

She grinned and passed it to him under the table – an exchange that did not go unnoticed by the others in the room, who all subconsciously took a step back. The two rose. Aragorn paid Barliman and shouldered his pack, and then they made their way out of the inn. He debated in his mind whether or not it was worth the trouble to get her a weapon here, but eventually decided that he would need his dagger so she would have to have her own. That settled, he turned down a side street and made his way to a shop that he knew of. The man who owned it knew the Rangers' real business and often made weapons for them. He was a traveler from farther east who had settled down in Bree, and had been helped by a Ranger when he was lost in the wilds. Aragorn knew that if anyone in Bree had a dagger worth buying, it would be this man. He quickly drew Adara into the small building.

Inside, it was dim. There was a cold smell of metal, a hot smell of fire, and a sound of clanging from a back room. Although the day was cold (it was the middle of winter after all) it was stifling in the little room, and all the heat seemed to come from the same place as the noise.

Aragorn banged on the door leading into the other room, then stood still, waiting. After a moment the clanging stopped, and a lean, strong man came through the door. He grunted a greeting on seeing the pair.

"Strider. Haven't seen you in a while. Seems you and your friend caused quite the ruckus at the Pony last night. What brings you here?"

Aragorn chuckled mirthlessly. "Word travels fast. Exactly what are the rumors?"

"That grim Ranger, Strider, has brought a sorcerer into town. Seems they are friends, and Strider protected him at the inn when he displayed his evil powers by vanishing into thin air. This was after the sorcerer severely wounded several men in a fight, and killed a traveler with just a glare. No one knows who the guy is, or where Strider picked him up, but he's been dubbed "The Phantom". Sooner the pair is out of town, the better."

He shook his head. "That's the gist of it. The people in this place like nothing better than talk, talk, talk. Before you know it, it'll be going around that he also spouted fire, and his eyes glow in the dark. That's the common pattern of rumors."

Aragorn nodded. "In answer to your earlier question – we need to purchase a weapon." He turned to Adara. "You clearly have experience with a dagger, know you how to use a sword? It is alright; here you can speak. He will not reveal your secret."

She removed her hood, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulders. "My brothers taught me to use many weapons. The sword is one of these."

The man squinted at her in the dim light, then his eyes widened with shock. "You are a woman?" He looked to Strider. "A woman?"

"Yes, I am a woman. Is there a problem with that?" She replied sharply.

"For what purpose do you dress as a man?" He questioned, suspiciously.

"She dresses as she does of necessity and because I asked her to." Aragorn cut in. "I found her in the wilds much as Halbarad found you nearly ten years ago. I do not commonly carry women's clothing with me when I travel, and so she has graciously made do with what I was able to give her. As for passing as a man, given the way Rangers are viewed in Bree, I thought it wise and she agreed to my plan."

The man quickly apologized, then led them through the door he had entered by. Here they found the source of the heat; a forge was blazing at full strength. Passing it by, the man led them to a case at the back of the room. Aragorn explained to Adara in a low voice, "He is seen as a common blacksmith, but serves the Rangers by forging various tools for our use. He keeps these separate from the rest of his merchandise, as he does not want to attract the attention of the people to this activity."

Upon opening the case, the man removed several different blades: three swords and five daggers, as well as a few common knives not much use for fighting.

"I fear I've no sword light enough for a woman to wield. These are all designed for the strength of the Rangers. Your best chance is with the daggers, I think."

"I'll be the judge of that!" Adara laughed softly, and Aragorn smiled, knowing that she was stronger than she seemed.

She lifted one sword and swung it, stepping away from the men to do so. It was a good sword, well made, but a little lighter than she preferred. She replaced it and scrutinized the other two for a while before selecting the one that seemed heaviest. Again Adara stepped back and swung it as she had the first. She smiled at the weight, and moved quickly through a practice stance. She then examined the blade more closely, testing the edge on it, and it's strength. Both were satisfactory, and Adara examined the hilt. It fit her hand well and was quite beautiful, with a gentle grace. No jewels adorned it, only a thin strip of metal of a lighter color than the rest, which wound around the grip and guard. It was rather like her sword that must still be in Astî.

Both men had watched her inspection closely. She turned back to them now with a sad, almost wistful smile, and a distant look in her eyes. "So much like Basil…" she murmured. The man looked toward Aragorn, confusion on his face. Adara seemed to snap out of her trance on seeing the movement and gave a happy smile. "This one is perfect."

Aragorn nodded, and then said, "Try a dagger as well."

Adara returned to the weapons laid out on the lid of the chest, running her hands over the hilts of two or three different daggers. She selected the smallest blade and tested it as she had the sword, for sharpness and strength. It seemed to pass her scrutiny, and Adara moved through another fighting stance. Apparently satisfied, she looked at Aragorn, who nodded. He purchased both. The man was clearly astonished at the purchase of the sword, but did not object.

As they left the shop with her new weapons, Aragorn asked quietly, "Basil?"

"My sword. It must yet be in Astî. This is so like it that I could have almost thought it Basil's twin. The feel and weight are the same, even the design is very similar."

"Small wonder you liked this the best."

Adara nodded, and they continued without talking, having reached a more frequented area of town. She fingered the hilt of the sword under her cloak. How good the familiar weight on her belt felt! She saw the glares the townsfolk directed at the two of them, but stood tall and refused to be cowed. With a sword in her hand Adara did not need to use her powers. She could hold her own against the best swordsman in Astî – King Edmund the Just – and would have no trouble with any impudent Breelander who dared to attack her. And as she walked she felt the slight bulge in her boot of the small dagger. She could fight off a swordsman with that blade alone, she knew.

Ignoring the glares, they headed for the town gate. Suddenly Aragorn ducked his head to hiss in her ear, {"Here comes your Southron friend. Try not to attract attention. If we are able to leave honorably but without conflict we must do so. Use your powers only if necessary."}

Adara nodded. They continued on their way, but were soon surrounded by the party of Southerners – eleven in all. The townsfolk around them stopped to watch the conflict they were sure was coming.

"Good day to you." Aragorn said pleasantly. "We have business that requires some haste, and we want no conflict. Kindly let us pass."

"You are not the only ones with business to attend to. You, Strider, may pass. We have no quarrel with you."

"Your quarrel is with my friend, I suppose? An innocent man is permitted to defend himself if attacked, is he not?"

This reasonable answer was immediately met with cries of, "Innocent?" "He's not innocent; he's a sorcerer!" "Kill him!" "Sorcery is never permissible!" "Away with the sorcerer!" and "Kill them both!"

**Dun dun dunnnn...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Rejoice, minions! I am celebrating a good grade on today's final by updating my stories! Celebrate, little yellow, mutated twinkies! (Yes, I'm kinda hyper. Why do you ask? And yes, I watch Despicable Me way to often. And no - I don't care what the new minion movie says. Minions are the result of one of Dr. Nefario's experiments gone wrong. :P And now I'll try to stop being weird...)**

_Previsously..._

_"Good day to you." Aragorn said pleasantly. "We have business that requires some haste, and we want no conflict. Kindly let us pass."_

_ "You are not the only ones with business to attend to. You, Strider, may pass. We have no quarrel with you."_

_ "Your quarrel is with my friend, I suppose? An innocent man is permitted to defend himself if attacked, is he not?"_

_ This reasonable answer was immediately met with cries of, "Innocent?" "He's not innocent; he's a sorcerer!" "Kill him!" "Sorcery is never permissible!" "Away with the sorcerer!" and "Kill them both!"_

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Silence!" Aragorn shouted, throwing his hood back so that his face was clearly visible. There was a look of authority on his face and a ring of command in his voice that none dared disobey. He lowered his voice, and though there was anger on his face his tone and words were deathly calm. Somehow, Adara reflected, that tone was more frightening than fearsome rage would have been.

"Magic comes in many forms, both evil and good. Sorcery is one form, wizardry another. The form of magic my friend uses is neither of these. Do not accuse an innocent of such crime as sorcery! Or you shall find that my reputation as a warrior is founded on fact. And my friend need not use his magic to fight. See!" He cried, gesturing to the sheathed sword she had revealed under her cloak. "He is armed as I am. Begone! And trouble us no more."

The Southerners murmured among themselves before their leader suddenly drew his sword and attacked Aragorn, who did not have time to draw his own blade. Before the sword could harm him, however, it was met with cold steel.

It galled Adara to have to stand idly by and have another defend her; but she could do nothing else, as she couldn't speak. But now! – now she could return the favor. She had her sword loose in its sheath, and drew it the moment the leader made for his own.

Adara glared into his eyes from the shadow of her hood. Then she suddenly spun about, sliding his blade off hers and catching it again with a flick of her wrist that sent it flying. With another practiced move she nearly ended his life – but stopped short of actually harming him, with her blade angled across his neck. He stared at her in fear, and no one dared move. After a moment Adara spun her blade again, removing it from his neck and slamming him across the chest with the flat in the same quick motion. He staggered backward and fell to the ground, winded. She turned to his friends, with a look and motion that clearly invited any more challengers to step forward. None did. They gathered their leader and his sword, and disappeared.

Sheathing her blade with a flourish, Adara turned to see Aragorn looking at her with open amazement. She cocked an eyebrow to ask what the big deal was. How often had she dueled her brother, and the men of his army? What she had done here was nothing for her, scarcely even a warm up.

"You are a good fighter." He stated quietly, recovering his composure as he took her arm and pulled her toward the gate.

"My brothers are good teachers."

Aragorn glanced at Adara as they passed out of Bree, on the open road once more. "You have mentioned your brothers twice today, and only once before have you referenced your family." The look he gave Adara was questioning.

She sighed. "My family is a painful subject – I will not speak of them lightly. This much I will say. I have no father or mother. They died when I was a child so young I barely remember. I have two brothers and two sisters. One brother is older than me; my other siblings are all younger. My older brother is," she hesitated, "my closest friend, and only true family. I received news that all four had disappeared – that was when I came to this world. I know my brother is alive, but the others…"

"How do you know that he lives?" Aragorn asked, wondering why this older brother was her only "true" family, when she had three other siblings.

"I would know if he did not." The tone with which her words were spoken made it clear that she would say no more on the subject. Adara paused a moment, then laughed slightly.

"Twins. That's what my youngest sister calls us, because of the similarity of our looks and manners. Close we were, no are – he is not dead. But we are so close, that they sometimes say we must each be able to read the other's mind, as we are often able to predict the other's actions and sometimes even words." She smiled softly, the same sad, wistful smile he had seen in the blacksmith's shop. They walked on in silence for some time, before Adara threw the hood of her cloak off and flung her head back to look at the sky. He watched, happy to see her regaining her usual bright spirits.

Although she had seemed serious and sober when they first met, she had shaken off the dismal spirit she had been wrapped in – and he had soon learned that she was a rather cheerful, optimistic, even merry person. For the last week she had been singing to herself almost nonstop, sometimes so quietly he could barely hear it, sometimes loudly for all the world to hear. Every now and again, however, she would become… Not serious, exactly. Perhaps sad was a better description. There would be a look of pain in her eyes, and Adara would stare at the distant landscape with tears that threatened to spill over. He longed to know what pained her so, but did not dare ask. In spite of her sad moments, she was altogether good company. He found himself enjoying it after so many long journeys alone.

Adara began to sing again, in her native language. Most of her songs were in tongues he did not understand, but he did not mind. She had a beautiful voice. Occasionally he would ask her to translate a song, and she always did so happily, explaining the song's story or history if needed. Now he asked, "What do you sing?"

She gave a merry laugh. "It is a song I learned long ago, when I was young. Well, less a song, more a legend. It speaks of a great leader who will arise, following in the steps of his forefathers, and fighting darkness. Shall I translate?"

"If it pleases you."

"Very well then." She answered with a smile. When she sang however, he started and stared at her.

"All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost,

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring,

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king."

Thankfully, she was watching the sky again, and did not look to him until her song was done. By that time he had mostly regained his composure, only looking thoughtful and slightly confused.

"Where did you learn that?"

"It is a song that all of my people sing. I have no idea when I learned it; I have known it for as long as I can remember. Why?"

"What is the rest of the legend?"

Adara gave him an odd look. Clearly she wondered why he was acting strangely. "It goes that there will come a time of great darkness and danger, and this leader shall arise from an ancient line of kings. He will fight the evil as his forefathers did, but where they failed he shall triumph. His line is unknown to my people, as is the world in which he shall arise. But we call him and his line the broken sword, because the line was broken and it shall be renewed in him. And also because, frankly, we have no idea what else the "blade that was broken", as the song says, could mean. But why do you ask?"

"I know that song. Not as a song, but as a poem. A dear friend of mine wrote it, word for word as you sang it, not two years ago. How then could your people have known it as long as you say?"

"Truly?!" Adara cried, "Then this is the world in which he will arise!" She lowered her voice so it wasn't quite so loud, and smiled. "And I do not question how we have known it. Time differs between worlds, it is turned and bent. It might be that this poem has been sent back in time somehow, back to my people. But I cannot answer you with certainty. I can only say that we have known it, and I do know it. But your friend wrote it? Is he a prophet, or did he write it for a man now living?"

"A man now living."

She clapped her hands in excitement. "And do you know who this man is?"

"I do. But I will not speak – I have need for thought."

She gave him a look, and stopped in the middle of the road, hands on her hips. Aragorn paused and looked back to her in surprise. Adara scanned his face; he tried to keep it void of the emotions he felt on hearing this story. Her expression changed, and she looked at him with something akin to wonder.

"You are the man. Your friend wrote it of you."

Aragorn sighed, and nodded. Adara cocked her head slightly and asked, "Then you know what he meant by the broken blade?"

"It is the sword of my fathers. The blade was broken in battle with great evil; it shall one day be reforged."

She considered a moment. "It is literal then. Renewed shall be the blade that was broken. But I do not think my people had it entirely wrong either." She paused and scrutinized his face again. "Well, that explains your reaction. I judge that I have given you a bit of a shock?"

"I suppose that to say so would not be inaccurate."

She moved forward, quickly coming to where Aragorn stood. "Do not be troubled. You are the man, so be it. Now continue to live as you ought and do what is right. What shall be will be, and no man can alter the life given to him, only choose his path and walk it as best as he can."

With that Adara began walking down the road again, singing another song – this in a tongue he knew. He listened, marveling at the tale her song told of a land bound in endless winter by an evil witch, four children who stumbled through a magical door, helped free the land from her tyranny, and were crowned kings and queens, another who rescued one child from the captivity of the witch and saved the life of the eldest child in battle, and the great king who killed the witch and even gave his life to save the child the witch had captured. It was a long song – but then, it was a long story. She must have sung for several hours before she came to the end of it, after the childrens' coronation. Only then did he realize that the land she sang about was her home – Astî, or Narnia.

After a moment of silence he asked quietly, "This is the story of Astî?"

"Yes. It is the story of the evil time, and the Golden Age which followed."

"Tell me, what became of the kings and queens?"

She looked away, that same pain in her eyes, and answered shortly, "I know not."

Deciding not to press the matter, he said instead, "It is a beautiful song."

"You ought to hear it sung by someone who can actually sing. I have heard it sung by Asti's naiads and mermaids. Oh, such beauty! There are few voices that can rival the song of the water people. But better than their voices were those of my sisters, and better still some of the Amator."

"That may be, but you sing well."

Adara laughed. "Thank you. But I fear I have to disagree."

"Disagree if you will. I find that is the way of talent – it either makes itself too much, or too little. If it must be so, the latter is certainly preferable."

They walked on.

**Only a couple more chapters before we move into the Fellowship of the Ring. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Merry Very Early Christmas, Everybody! :)**

Two weeks after leaving Bree they came suddenly to the edge of the valley in which the elvish city of Rivendell stood. She paused and surveyed the scene, a slight smile playing on her lips. He waited for her, knowing well the feeling of peace that descended on the heart of a weary traveller on seeing the beauty in the valley below, and well content to allow her to marvel at the sights she saw.

"And this is Rivendell?"

"It is."

She smiled, but again there was pain in her eyes. He had become used to it, joy and sorrow mixed together. He guessed that many of the things she found joy in must bring back memories for her – happy memories that also caused her pain.

They moved down the steep road into the valley. About half an hour later they crossed the stone bridge that led up to the gates of the city.

She sighed softly, and then said, "There is a feel of peace here such as I have not known since leaving Cair Paravel."

"It is the magic of the elves that makes it so. That feeling of peace has strengthened the heart of many a weary traveller, and shall do so for many more."

At that Adara turned to face him. "It is more than magic." She looked to the city before her once more, then closed her eyes and was silent for a moment before continuing. "I feel the presence of magic here, yes. But there is more… joy, learning, justice, and goodness. Love. An aura of peace can only be given by a people who love. There is life here, more than the long life that was gifted to the inhabitants of this place. There is life beyond that, life of the soul.

"It is possible for a person to be alive, and yet dead, for while the body lives the spirit may languish. And when death comes, there can be no more life for that person, only death forever.

"But for the one whose soul lives, there is no true death. Though his body dies, his spirit lives on, forever, in peace and joy. There is no such inner death in this place. There is life within, not death, life made of goodness and a love so strong that it conquers all feeling of strife or hate.

"The magic does not create the peace, no; it is the other way around. The peace that comes of love creates the magic. This is why the elves have been given such power. "This is why any power is given for good; I mean not only magic, but any power for good. Be it large or small, it is given to the one who has desire for the well being of others – regardless of whether the others have any desire for the one's well being.

"Power to do good is born of the will to do good, which is born of the love of all things good, and above all the love of the author of all things good. There is that sort of love in this place."

Aragorn simply stared at her, caught off guard by her wisdom. Before he could reply someone else did.

"Your words are wise. Tell me, when you say "the author of all things good", of whom do you speak?" A voice to their right asked. They both turned to the speaker, seeing an elf, taller than most, with long, dark brown hair, a stern face, and solemn grey eyes.

She bowed her head slightly and answered (even though she did not know who asked), "Aslan, Son of the Great Emperor over the sea. He was given authority by his father to create all life, and all that he created was good."

The elf who had spoken strode forward to stand in front of her. "How then is there evil, if all was good?" He questioned.

"One to whom he gave a high position grew proud, and desired the throne of his maker, and so fell. That one is the author of evil and lies, for all evil is a lie, a mockery of what is good. But he cannot create, only twist things that were given for good, and turn them to evil. Thus it is that every evil thing is a dark image coming from something good – depravity from virtue, lies from truth, and death from life." She answered simply.

After a moment he said quietly, "You speak well. Where learned you this lore?"

"Many places. It is known to my people, though few understand it. But I have been taught by the Lion – and he makes his teaching plain for those who will to understand."

"The Lion?"

"The Lord of all realms. Aslan, who comes to the inhabitants of my homeland in form as a lion, though he can manifest himself in many forms."

The elf said nothing for a long while, then nodded to her slightly and turned to Aragorn. "Welcome, Elessar. We are glad of your return."

"Glad am I to once more walk the glades of Rivendell. Yet I am come not for leisure, but answers. Here is a mystery that has need of your learning."

The elf nodded gravely. "Very well. We shall speak of it later." He turned back to Adara. "Welcome, lady. I am Elrond, Lord of Rivendell." He reached out a hand and she placed her own in it.

"Adara of Astî." He bowed his head and gently kissed the back of her hand. She smiled gently, evidence that she was used to such courtly gestures, but Aragorn saw that same pain in her eyes.

"I bid you welcome to my city." He offered her his arm, which she took, and led the way through the gates.

Adara sighed as she sank onto the bed in the room that had been provided for her. She had been treated with all courtesy; she really had nothing to complain about. The elves provided for her every need. Yet… In spite of the warm, soothing bath, the fresh (and very beautiful) evening gown, and the soft bed, she would have preferred the little snapping fire, weary muscles, and hard ground that had been her lot for nearly five weeks. As she travelled she could keep her mind off the searing loss, her songs and even her weariness served her well there. But here, surrounded with gentle beauty and comfort, there was nothing to dull the aching pain in her heart.

It had bothered her at first that she would be weary after only easy marches day by day, with nights of sound sleep in between. She realized that she had not regained her full strength, and this troubled her, until she thought how once before she had been separated from him against her will and had been weakened until they were reunited. Unless he were near, she knew, she would never have her full strength. She ought to have remembered sooner.

When a maid came to summon her for dinner she politely excused herself, saying that she was weary and would remain in her room. Shortly thereafter, the maid returned bearing a tray of bread and fruit, as well as some cold meats, sent by Lord Elrond. She forced herself to eat a little, but could not stomach much more than a few bites. When the maid removed the tray, it was virtually untouched.

She was in a state of pain and grief that she had never encountered before – always there had ben something in the way, some problem to distract her. Last time, she had been primarily concerned with preserving her life as she escaped her captors. This time, she was focused first on surviving, then on the mysterious man who helped her, and finally on reaching Rivendell. Now there was nothing to dull her pain. She steeled herself against it, afraid that if she gave place to her anguish she would never pull out of it. Finally she ceased her fight and allowed the tears to come, crying as though her heart would break – though she did so silently, as was the manner of her people.

After Elrond had committed Adara to the care of several elven maids, Aragorn went to the rooms that were always his when he was able to visit Rivendell. He did not see her again before dinner, but then, he had not expected to. He knew that the elves would treat her well, and she would receive the same comforts as he did, a soothing bath and fresh clothes. When one of the maids returned from summoning her to dinner with her polite decline, he frowned. She excused herself on the grounds that she was weary? That did not seem right. In all the weeks they had travelled together, she had never once shown sign of weariness, and happily kept going when he himself was ready to drop. How could she be weary now, after little more than half a day of travel?

He did not show his unease, simply listening as Elrond sent a tray of the best bread, fruit, and meat so she might dine in the comfort of her room. When the maid brought the tray back nearly untouched an hour later, he knew that something was definitely wrong.

Adara had been in his charge for weeks, and he felt slightly protective of her after being her guardian in the wilds for so long. Perhaps his concern also had foundation in his knowledge of her silent pain; whatever the case, he was worried. Shortly thereafter he excused himself from the meal on the grounds that he, too, was weary. Neither Elrond nor Arwen protested, for which he was thankful. In truth the journey had not been so difficult, but if they thought it was then for the sake of Adara he was not going to correct them. He told them he would look in on Lady Adara before retiring, as she would likely welcome a familiar face. He then hastily made his way to her rooms.

He paused before the door, and knocked lightly. No sound came from within. He frowned. What was wrong? Why did she not answer? Knocking again, he softly called, "Adara?" (After about a week of Aragorn calling her Lady Adara, she finally put her foot down and got him to simply call her by her name.)

There was still no answer and no sound, not even of movement, met his listening ear. His frown deepened. Turning, he sought one of the maids in the antechamber; there his knock was answered. A comely young elleth opened the door. On seeing him she curtseyed and said, "My lord Aragorn. How can I help you?"

He bowed his head courteously and responded, "I am concerned for the Lady Adara. She does not answer, and I cannot enter her room uninvited to learn if she is well. Will you do me this service and go in?"

"Of course my lord. Your concern is certainly justified; I fear she may be ill. She did not look well when I brought her tray, and scarcely ate anything, but dismissed me when I enquired."

As she spoke, the maid moved quickly down the hall to Adara's door and rapped on it lightly. She listened as he had done. He knew that she might hear something he could not; as an elf she had far sharper hearing. She seemed to hear nothing and opened the door a crack, slipping in and closing the door behind her. Aragorn waited impatiently in the hall, wondering what could be wrong. Listening closely, all he heard was a murmur of the maid's voice, nothing else. A moment later the door opened again, and the maid stepped out, worry evident in her face. She did not close the door behind her and he caught a glimpse of someone sitting slumped on the bed.

"My lord you had better go in. She sits and weeps, and she will not respond to me. I have no idea what can have upset her so, and I have never seen anything like it."

"I have some thought for what may cause her grief..." He muttered, looking at the figure on the bed.

"Shall I send for Lady Arwen?"

He stepped into the room, shutting the door, and answered quietly, "No. Withdraw to the next room, if you will, and wait for my call."

She curtseyed again and replied, "Yes, Lord Aragorn." Then she disappeared into the adjoining room leaving the door open only a crack, and that for propriety's sake. He crossed the room and knelt before Adara. Her face was buried in her hands, her hair cascading down across her shoulders to form a delicate golden veil around her hidden face. She made no sound, nor did her shoulders shake, but he saw that her knees were wet with the tears that flowed freely over her fingers and dropped to her lap. She must have been weeping for quite some time.

He waited a moment, but Adara gave no indication that she was aware of his presence, so he said softly, "Adara. Why do you weep?"

She did not respond, so he tried again. "Please Adara, tell me what is wrong. Let me help you if I can." He touched her shoulder gently as he said this.

She finally answered him; whether it was his voice or touch that triggered her response he did not know, and at this point he didn't really care. She shook her head slightly and said in a subdued, almost strangled, voice, "There is nothing you can do. There is nothing anyone can do to help me. I must suffer through alone; there is no other way, unless I go back to Astî, and find him there. But I cannot go back, I do not know how."

He was growing more and more worried by her weeping, and on hearing her words he became even more so. "What causes your tears?"

She shook her head again.

"Adara, please, tell me. Trust me enough to tell me…"

She took a shuddering breath, her tears slowing slightly now that she had something else to focus on. But the smaller number of tears was not evidence of a lesser ache in her heart. "I am torn in two… I have only once before (since we were joined) been far away from him, and then the pain was not nearly so great as it is now." She paused, her tears breaking out afresh. "I was not nearly so far from him then as I am now. I do not even know where he is…"

He reached up and brushed her hair back. The attempt to see her expression failed, however, as her face was still hidden in her hands. "Who is it you speak of? Your husband?"

She dropped her hands from her face, her tears gone in her astonishment. "My husband?! No! Oh goodness, no! My brother!"

He paused, confused. After a moment of silence he said slowly, "I understand your grief upon losing the brother you are so close to, but I do not see why it should cause you so much pain as you seem to be in…"

She smiled sadly. "He was more than just my brother, or my twin. Do you remember the song that I sang the day we left Bree? The song of Astî?"

He nodded, and gestured for her to continue. "I was the girl, the one who saved the life of the eldest boy. During the battle, I saw him fighting foes too many for his inexperience, and I went to help him. As we fought together, blood from our wounds mixed, and we became nukar – blood siblings. I know not if it is a thing of magic in this world, but in Astî 'tis special indeed."

She sat up straight and wiped all traces of tears off her face. Once the dampness was gone he found, to his surprise, that her face showed no sign of her weeping.

"When the blood of two people mixes – in their open wounds, not on the surface, so that the blood of each enters the body of the other – a link is established, a special bond. Part of myself is now with him, and part of him is with me. Unless the bond is broken, only beside each other can either of us be whole. This link is what makes us so close, it is why we know each other well enough to sometimes even predict each the thoughts and actions of the other, because the other is part of us. There are few things that can break such a bond, and I know none of them. But because he is so far, and I am apart from him through forces other than my own will, it is as though I am torn in two. Part of me is with him – part of me is here. Each person bonded so feels the absence of their nuka differently. I know not exactly what my brother feels, but for me it is a pain in my heart, too great to be borne."

He looked at her in amazement. "Never have I heard of such a bond. Here the mixing of blood usually results in a close relationship, such as that of very good friends or of brothers, but no such link of heart."

"Such things vary world to world. I have no doubt that here there are similar things that are nothing in Astî."

"I expect that you are right." He stopped a moment, thinking furiously. When he distracted her, she seemed to feel the pain of her separation from her brother less. Perhaps if he could keep her busy, she would be able to get through the worst times without such pain as he had just witnessed. "Is there no way, no way for me to help you? No way to dull the pain you feel? Why has it not been like this until now?"

"Before I was focused on surviving, then on figuring out who you were and what you would do with me, and then on getting to Rivendell. I still felt the ache, and I know you saw my pain from time to time, but I was able to push it away and concentrate on other things. And before when my nuka and I were separated, I was focused on escaping my captors with my life. But now there is nothing I can use to push the pain away. In the quiet moments it surfaces, try as I may to ignore it."

"Then we shall have to keep you busy, until you are through the worst times. Will that help?"

"I-I don't know. The pain may not ever leave, it may not leave until I go through it, or there may be a specific length of time after which it shall be gone. I simply do not know…"

"Are you willing to try?"

"If I do not distract myself from the loss of my nuka, I fear I may go mad."

"Then allow me to bring you to Lord Elrond, and we shall see what is to be done. It may be that he knows of another way to help you; at the least he shall help me to arrange what I have in mind."

Aragorn stood and held out his hand and Adara took it, allowing him to draw her up from the bed. He released her hand and offered her his arm, a more proper gesture. She took it, but stopped him when he would have called the maid.

"Why do you help me so? You said, that day when I used the Dejen to understand your speech, that you helped me because I had need of it. Yet, here you knew I would be well cared for and you still came to see how I fared. Here there are others that might help me, and you have undertaken to do so yourself. Why?"

He smiled softly. "It is not in my nature to desert one who has need of help. You are my friend, as surely as I claimed in Bree. Perhaps also… I see your pain, and though I have never felt the like, yet I do understand it, in some small way. I too have felt great pain, though it is nothing in comparison with the pain you feel. I look at you, and see myself as I was many years ago, and I would not have you lose the things that I have lost in the struggle that has been my life. Perhaps that is why, in part."

"Whatever the reason, thank you, my friend."

He acknowledged her with a gentle nod, then turned and opened the door to the antechamber where the maid waited. "I thank you for your help maiden…"

"Teloa, my lord."

"Teloa. Go now, I pray, and tell the Lady Arwen that Lord Aragorn would speak with her, and shall be found in her father's study."

"As my lord commands." Teloa turned to go, but paused at the door, giving them both a respectful farewell. "My lord, my lady." The next moment she was gone. Aragorn drew Adara out into the hall and led her to Elrond's study.

At the door he paused and said, "I hope Lord Elrond is within. Allow me to explain, I would not have you speak except when I ask it. Trust me in this, for I know how the Lord of Rivendell argues and thinks, and he may not agree with the plan I have formed."

"It is entirely possible that I will not either." She said gently, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"It is possible, but I think it unlikely, if I know something of your character. For you are strong, and unlikely to turn down both adventure and the chance to do good to others in one plan."

"Now I am even more curious than previously…"

He laughed softly, and knocked on Elrond's door. A voice within called, "Enter!"

As Aragorn pushed the door open, he heard his companion mutter under her breath, "Well, here goes nothing!" and restrained himself from laughing again.

The room was beautiful and old, with shelves of parchments and desks on which lay strange charts and tools. The Lord of Rivendell was bent over one of these desks, examining a paper Adara could not see. His back was to his visitors. As they entered the room, he straightened and turned around, seeming rather surprised when he saw who the newcomers were.

"Good evening Aragorn, Lady Adara. And what brings you to my study?"

"A matter of knowledge, knowledge that I lack and you may perhaps possess." Aragorn responded.

"Indeed. And what is this knowledge that you seek?" As he spoke Elrond gestured for Adara to be seated; when she was the man and elf sat as well.

"Do you know aught of the land of Astî?"

The elf furrowed his brow, deep in thought for several moments. "I cannot say that I do. Perhaps it has another name?"

Aragorn nodded. "Yes. It is also known as Narnia. If it has any other name, I know them not."

He looked to Adara. She shook her head slightly and said, "Nay, Astî and Narnia are all." Elrond looked to her sharply.

"You know of this land?"

She glanced at Aragorn, and then said softly, "It is the land of my birth."

"Then why question me?" He asked Aragorn, "If Lady Adara knows of this land, ought you not to question her about it?"

"I have done so. The reason I came to you was not to learn of this land, but how one might go to this land."

Elrond frowned. "Is there some trick to obtaining its entrance?"

Aragorn turned to Adara and nodded. She faced the elvish lord and took a deep breath before explaining.

"The problem is that Astî is not a land of Arda, but another world entirely – the world of Rikku." **(Author's note: As far as I am aware C. did not give a name for the ****_world_**** that Narnia is in, only the ****_countries_**** within it. I used the name Rikku solely for the purposes of this story, because I needed a name for Narnia's world.)**

Elrond stared at her before saying slowly, "Go on."

"I came here from Astî, I do not know how. Aragorn found me in the wilderness and helped me – that tale has already been told to you, though I was not present at the time."

"Lord Aragorn made no mention of another world."

The man in question spoke up. "Nay, that I did not, nor did I speak of her people. There are several points in the story that I left unexplained, a fact that I know you marked well. Shall I explain them now?"

The elf frowned. "Perhaps Lady Adara ought to explain."

"As I do not know what remains to be explained, I think that Aragorn should finish the tale…"

"He shall tell you what remains." The tone in Elrond's voice left no room for argument.

Adara looked to the man, who nodded slightly as if to say it was best to do as she were told. He told her softly, "I said nothing of the your race, the Dejen, or Astî. I also did not explain your ability to understand my speech, or why the Breelanders now stand in such fear of you, and I said nothing of your family."

Adara nodded, took another deep breath, and began. She was very careful in what she said, which was very obvious to everyone there. She explained about her people and the Dejen, leaving out that she possessed the stone, although she did say she was the last of her kind. She told about her family, but mentioned no names.

_Come to think of it, I didn't tell Aragorn any names either._

She also made no mention of her special bond with her brother, saying only that she was close to him. Although she said that she had some power with which she had frightened the impudent Southerner in Bree, she did not expand on exactly what that power was.

When Adara had finished, Elrond stood and began to pace. Several times during her story he had nodded, frowned, or leaned forward with a look of intense concentration. It was the last that really intimidated Adara.

"And will you demonstrate this ability you have?" The pacing elf asked after a moment, turning to her as he did so.

She summoned her courage and replied bravely, "I'd rather not."

Elrond turned to her in surprise. "Why do you refuse?"

"Because I hate feeling like I'm putting on a show, and because my powers are not the point."

Aragorn stepped in, drawing Elrond's attention from Adara, for which she gave him a grateful look. "I brought Lady Adara here for two reasons. First, I wished to know if you knew of any way for her to return to Astî. Second… Certain circumstances pertaining to Astî make her separation from her family very painful for her. Such pain as she experiences at times is unlike anything I have ever seen. We do not know how long it will be this way, but we do know that there is only one way to help her through the hardest times."

"And what is that?" Elrond asked, concern evident in his voice. He was a stern elvish lord, but he was also a father, and a healer. To see any good thing in pain hurt him, and to see a young woman so near the age of his daughter in such pain…

"To stay very preoccupied."

She spoke quietly. "I am accustomed to being busy and useful. As one of the Amator, my greatest desire is to help others that have need, and protect those who are helpless. I am the last of the Amator so all the duty given to my people to cherish and protect what is good falls on me, and this makes my desire to help even greater… makes it nearly a _need_ to help. I do not know exactly what my friend has in mind, but he says that he has a way to – well – basically to give me some work to focus on so that I am more easily able to ignore my pain."

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. Elrond turned and called, "Who knocks?"

The door opened slightly and a beautiful elvish maiden poked her head into the room. "It is I, Adda. Lord Aragorn sent word that he wished to speak with me, and that I would find him here."

The voice that to most sounded like a beautiful melody did not impress Adara. Her people, when they took their natural forms, were some of the most beautiful creatures in all the realms, more lovely even than the elves, and their voices were enchanting. She had lulled enemies to sleep before simply by assuming one of her natural forms and then speaking gently to them. It was a rather handy trick at times.

"Come in, daughter. He is here."

The elleth stepped into the room, closing the door behind herself. She paused on the threshold to survey the occupants of her father's study, which allowed Adara to examine this lady she had only heard about. Arwen was tall – of course, she was an elf after all – and had long hair that was nearly black, and eyes a dark shade of grey. She looked a great deal like her father, only her hair was darker and her face was younger, and not so stern.

_So this is the famous Arwen Undomiel._

As Arwen started moving again, going to her father's side, she gave Adara a curious glance, and then Aragorn a questioning look. When she stood by her father, she asked softly, "You wished to speak with me, Lord Aragorn?"

He nodded. "I did, and do." He then basically repeated what he had just told her father about Adara's pain at her separation from her family. She immediately seemed to understand (as her father had) that it was more than a simple longing for her family, more than homesickness, but the result of some greater power, something like magic. This was in spite of the fact that she did not know anything about the blood bond. She moved quickly to Adara's side and gently embraced her, asking, "What then is to be done?"

Aragorn said, "That is slightly more complicated. What Adara" (both elves noted the lack of a title, but neither commented) "needs is more than a simple amusement. She tells me that as we travelled she was able to ignore her pain. In Bree, for simplicity's sake, she passed as a man – a second Ranger. And earned herself a Ranger's name as well. Though that is another story entirely." He added the final part quickly as he saw that Arwen was about to ask what he meant. She nodded slightly, and let the matter drop.

"What is your proposal, Aragorn?"

Before Aragorn could answer Elrond, Arwen did. "He would have her work as a Ranger, passing as a man… Is this not true?"

Aragorn nodded. "It is what I had in mind. It is a little unusual, but–"

"Surely you are not serious." Elrond demanded.

"I am certainly serious."

"What is this that you suggest! A woman as a Ranger, a woman fighting alone in the wilds? Aragorn, this is unlike you. Ever you have been a protector of those weaker than yourself. You would truly send her out as a Ranger?"

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment. Lady Arwen was still beside Adara, holding her hand, and was staring into the distance, apparently preoccupied with her own thoughts. Her brow was furrowed slightly, as though she tried to puzzle out a difficult problem. Opening his eyes again, the Ranger stood and faced his friend.

"I _would_ send her out as a Ranger, though I had no thought to send her alone. Yet, though she _were_ alone, she would certainly be far better able to care for herself than many men. Anyone who can survive five weeks alone in the wilds, with neither weapon nor fire, at this time of year; is superior even to most of my men. I have seen her fight, Lord Elrond, and I tell you that I should not dare to engage her as my enemy for fear of my life.

"Added to her skills with weapons are her powers. Altogether, I do not doubt that she could take virtually any danger in the wilds. As for protecting those weaker than myself – although I certainly will protect her whenever she has need, she is stronger than I am."

Elrond frowned at his human friend, wondering where this idea had come from and why the man stuck to it so obstinately. Before he could say anything, however, Arwen spoke again.

"And you, Lady Adara, what do you think of this plan?"

There was nothing but kindness and concern in the elleth's eyes; this gave Adara confidence to answer. Not much truly intimidated her, but for some reason Elrond did. She found him rather… scary, actually. But now she answered, "I think it is a good idea. Aragorn has told me about the lives of the Rangers – and I can say that it does not sound so very different from the lives of the Amator in the dark times before the Golden Age."

"Explain, if you would?" Elrond asked.

"In those days we wandered the edge of the wilds, killing whatever evil creatures crossed our paths, and venturing into Astî to help the innocents. Many never returned from these trips, yet we continued to go. Evil finally claimed the lives of my people, for we were a dwindling race before the dark times, and our numbers slowly declined as we fought the darkness. In the final great battle all of us who remained were killed, save I alone. If it were not for my brother, even I would not have survived. And still I will fight as long as I possess the strength to do so. For one hundred years I fought in the shadows and the wilds. I am not afraid to do so again."

For nearly an hour Aragorn and Elrond debated, until finally Arwen stepped in, saying, "Adda, if she is willing to go as a Ranger, who are we to stop her? She is evidently more than capable of caring for herself in the wilds, or in a fight. Who are we to deny her the one thing that may dull her deep pain?"

After this, Elrond reluctantly gave in. He did insist, however, that if she was to go as a Ranger she must pass as a man. This would protect the honor of any Ranger who worked with her. Of course, it would also complicate matters… how was she to always pass as a man? Here Arwen stepped in, saying that she would fix everything up, as she guessed that was largely why Aragorn had wanted her to be present – first to help him convince her father, and second to help sort out logistics.

Arwen then took Adara back to her own room, where they both stayed that night to prevent Adara having another episode from being alone. Aragorn and Elrond remained in the elvish lord's study some time longer, talking.

"Why are you doing so much to help this young woman, Aragorn?"

"She needs help, Elrond. Is not that enough?"

"It… you would not normally do what you have done. I would expect you to bring her here, and leave her in the hands of Arwen and myself, knowing that we would do everything we could to help her."

"She is not an ordinary woman, Elrond. What I would do in another case simply would not be sufficient in this case. Besides which, we travelled together for five weeks, and formed a friendship in that time. I am loathe to leave my friends when I might give them help."

"Why though, do you think it necessary to make her a Ranger?"

Aragorn sighed. "I could think of nothing else with enough danger and weariness. And I should like to have her nearby, where I can watch to be sure that she is all right. This business of Astî troubles me – that her family should simply disappear, and then she suddenly finds herself in a world entirely separate from Rikku… There is something at work here, whether it be good or evil I cannot tell. However, I am convinced of her goodness, and therefore, if it is an evil force at work, of her innocence."

Elrond nodded slowly, thoughtful. "She reminds me of yourself, when you were younger. Before you knew the things you know now. I am not sure why… It is not because you are alike; you are not. She seems as merry as a child, and has an air of absolute innocence about her, in spite of all that she has seen."

"Meaning that I am not innocent, I suppose?" Aragorn remarked with a wry smile.

"You no longer have the sweet innocence of childhood."

"No offense taken. I have seen too much for gentle innocence to bear. But I believe that she is frightened of you, Elrond, which rather surprises me. The only time I have seen her show any fear was in the cave that first day, when she could not understand my speech, did not know my intentions, and was too weak to defend herself. Not even when the wolves attacked did she give any indication of being afraid."

"It may be I remind her of something in her past. What do you know about her, Aragorn? Besides what you have already said?" Elrond asked quietly.

"Very little. She does not speak of Astî much, and although she easily answers any questions I ask, I have asked few – for I can see her pain."

"Still, you must know something…"

Aragorn mused, thinking how to answer his friend. Most of what he knew he had already told the elvish lord, and most of what remained he knew he could not share. Adara's special bond with her brother, etc.… she had told him some private things in complete confidence. Finally he responded.

"There is a little more I know of her, but some of it I am not at liberty to pass on. Some things she told me in confidence, trusting me and having no other option." He paused, thinking. "She is far more powerful than she made it sound. Do not doubt her power. It rivals your own, I think, though she may not realize it." He paused again. "There is more to her family than meets the eye. The reason for her pain pertains to them… to her elder brother specifically, but I can say no more."

He looked to the stars outside the room, brow furrowed in thought. "She seems to think very little of herself… and very highly of her family. I believe…" He seemed to come to a sudden decision, as though he had made up his mind whether he ought to say this or not.

"Her brothers and sisters are the monarchs, the kings and queens of Astî. I think that she is not one of the reigning monarchs because she is not related to them by birth. But I believe that among her own people, she is (or was) the leader."

Elrond did not seem to be surprised. "Yes, she is evidently used to being in charge. She has an air of authority about her. I think she must be a good leader; in spite of her innocence she has a great deal of wisdom, as evidenced by her words this afternoon upon entering my city. She is a strong character, tempered with wisdom and innocence. Yes, she would make a good queen of any people."

"You see much, my friend. But none of this is cause for her to be afraid of you." Aragorn replied, returning to the original topic, as he realized they had headed down a rabbit trail.

"No. You are right. But we do not know everything about her." Elrond replied. "And until we know more, I do not think that this plan of yours is very wise."

"What causes you to say this?"

"You yourself said that she does not want you to pass along the things she has told you about herself. She wields an ancient power; for although she did not say that she possesses this Dejen stone, if she is the last of her people then she certainly must. Her caution in speaking of it alarms me, what reason would she have to hide it? She is extremely cautious of what she says… She certainly has great power in herself, and with this stone she has even greater power. If her power rivals mine as you say… is it not dangerous to place a great deal of trust in her when we know nothing about her?"

"What you say is wise, Elrond, yet I know that she is no danger in herself. She will not misuse her power, nor will she work against us. Of this I am confidant, enough to place my life and full work in her hands."

Elrond said nothing more, but it was clear to the man that his friend still had serious misgivings. He did not push the issue however, saying only, "It will all be clear in time. You doubt her now, and I do not blame you. But she shall prove herself. On this I will stake my word, so confidant am I." With that he bade Elrond goodnight and left the study, returning to his own rooms.

**So... That happened... And now you know why the story is called "My Nuka". For the record - nukar are entirely my own invention! The word is made up too - I found a word that meant "brother" or something (it was a while ago now, so I don't really remember) and kinda warped it...**

**By the way - I think that the title is kind of lame. If anyone comes up with something else, let me know and I may use it!**


	7. Chapter 7

**So... Hopefully I can update again tomorrow. This chapter marks the last (I think) of the pre-Fellowship story. There will be a tad more in the next chapter - but the next chapter should also end with the hobbits in Bree. (If I'm not misremembering...)**

**The last scene in this chapter feels a little random to me, but I wanted to explain Amator powers more fully. Hence the scene...**

_"And to the clear, Northern sky, I give you King Peter…The Magnificent."_

_ The room erupted in cheers and shouts as the Narnians gave acclamation to their new monarchs. The great Lion raised his head and smiled at the enthusiasm of the people, but only waited a moment before he quieted them._

_ "Lady Meital."_

_ Adara stepped forward from her place at the front of the crowd, surprised. Aslan motioned her to stand next to him._

_ "Aslan?"_

_ "Meital. You are the blood sister of the High King. I name you Amala. You were born Princess of your people the Amator – now you shall be Princess of Narnia." He roared and another crown appeared on the tray that Mrs. Beaver was holding. It was not like the crown that the kings and queens now wore._

_ The two older siblings had golden crowns and the two younger had silver – this crown was a deep blue, bluer than the sky, and white, whiter than freshly fallen snow. The blue matched her eyes and the color of the Dejen, which hung from its chain about her neck, and the white matched the streaks of that color in her golden hair._

_ Adara moved to the place Aslan told her – standing beside the throne of her nuka. Mr. Tumnus took the new crown from Mrs. Beaver's tray and placed it on her head, meeting her eyes with a smile._

_ "Princess Amala, the Compassionate – Warrior Princess of her people."_

_ She looked to Peter beside her, who smiled brightly, and then back at Aslan, who lifted his great head and roared one more time. Before he turned away, she heard his voice in her head as she had before._

_ "Reign with wisdom, daughter of Anil. Narnia shall have need of you before the end. And not only Narnia, but lands far more distant."_

Adara woke with a start, the dream that was no dream still pounding in her head. She remembered that day oh so clearly, remembered how Aslan's words had puzzled and troubled her. Was this what he had meant? That she was supposed to come here, to this world, to Arda?

She remembered the brightness of the morning, and the joy she had felt, joy to be alive, and to be with her brother. Joy to be Princess of Narnia.

"Princess Amala, the Compassionate." She whispered. How she missed her people – she was the last of the Amator, but the people of Narnia had become her people, and she had loved them as much as they loved her. She and Lucy had been the special favorites of the people, though for different reasons. Lucy was young, innocent, and sweet, she loved the Narnians with her whole heart since the moment she entered Narnia. Adara was much like Narnia itself, strong and wild. She was a merry being, and brought joy to the hearts of the people. The real reason the Narnians loved her, however, was that she had given everything to help them. She had sacrificed her way of life, even her people, her family, to guard the Narnians and their land and king, and had nearly given her own life doing so.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, not stemming from her pain for her brother, but her sorrow for leaving her beloved people just when they needed her most. She closed her eyes, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill over. She carefully stood; leaving the bed she was sharing with Arwen that night, and moving to the window.

"I will return. I will not abandon them. Somehow, someday, I will return. This is my vow, Narnia; I will come back to you. Someday your warrior will return to you, to guard and protect you as she has always done. Your people will not always be leaderless. Where the kings and queens are, I do not know. Why Aslan has allowed them and myself to be removed from you, I do not know. But I will not rest until I know that all your people are safe and cared for, or I myself am dead. This is my promise to you."

She bowed her head in the gentle moonlight, eyes closed as she promised herself that she would find a way to help her beloved people, even from Arda. Behind her, Arwen lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. Princess Amala the Compassionate… Is she Princess Amala? She told us that her name was Adara, not Amala – why would she lie? Is she truly the Princess of this land Narnia – Astî? Why would she hide this from us? Who is she really?

Arwen shut her eyes and kept her breathing steady as Adara returned to her side of the bed. After a few minutes, the other woman's breathing deepened, and Arwen knew that she had fallen asleep. No sleep came to the elleth, however. She lay awake the rest of the night; both worried for Adara, and troubled about her intentions concerning Arda.

Adara decided as she fell asleep that she would tell Aragorn more about herself. After all that he had done for her, he deserved to know, and she didn't want it to come out later in a way that would hurt someone.

The next morning, Arwen and Adara breakfasted in Arwen's room where they had slept. Arwen sent a message to her father excusing them from dining with the main assembly, saying that she felt it would be better the fewer people knew of Adara's presence. Besides, they had things to do. She sent for a seamstress to come to her room, and they spent the better part of the morning designing a new outfit for Adara that would help to hide her gender.

They created a basic Ranger outfit such as Aragorn wore: shirt, tunic, and pants, all specifically tailored to comfortably fit a woman's body. Over the tunic Adara would wear a leather vest, however, carefully padded in the right places to 'fill out' her chest around her breasts. This would not only hide her womanly figure but also give the appearance of a man's broad chest. Underneath her shirt she would have special wrappings about her chest; sort of a back-up plan in case for some reason she was unable to use the vest.

They managed to find leather boots such as the Rangers used that would fit her fairly well, and Arwen sent them to a leatherworker to have them adjusted a little. They also adapted the cloak that Aragorn had given her already, adjusting it so that it went over the entire outfit. Its hood would cover/shadow her whole face when it was up, and the seamstress fixed it so that the front of the cloak could be laced shut down as far as her waist. When she shut it like this, the cloak pretty much hid her whole body. In fact, it would be adequate to hide her gender completely on it's own, even if it wasn't laced down. Arwen declared it perfect, and thanked the seamstress. They swore the woman to secrecy. Before they sent her away, she cut Adara's hair to about the same length as Aragorn's – it stopped just below her shoulders.

Elrond's daughter was not satisfied yet, however. She carefully crafted a mask that would cover the upper half of Adara's face, showing only her piercing blue eyes. When completed, it was a deep dark blue with black embroidered outlines around the edges and the eyeholes. At Adara's request Arwen added white thread along the black, although she didn't understand the significance of it. White was the color of the ruler of Amator.

When Arwen was finished; it fit Adara like a glove. The fabric was very comfortable, light enough that it would not grow hot, or wet with sweat, but heavy enough to hold up to any weather and resist tearing. It started just above the middle of her forehead, and ended slightly above the end of her nose, slanting down across her cheeks to hide as much of her face as reasonably possible, before curving back up to her ears, and proceeding around her head to the fastening behind. It hugged her face enough to give it grace, but not so tightly that it would show feminine features. Happily, it also did not obstruct her vision at all.

Adara put on her entire outfit, and both women were completely satisfied with the result. Deciding to see how effective the disguise was, Arwen sent a message to her father and Aragorn, saying that a stranger had arrived and wished to speak with them both at once, and asking if she should have him sent to Elrond's study. When they received the reply, they set out. They arrived at the study, and Arwen said softly just before they entered, "Now, you must not speak. Your voice will give you away immediately."

Adara nodded, and then went in, not quite closing the door behind her. This way Arwen would be able to hear what happened. They had decided that she should remain outside; if she went in with Adara it would be too much of a giveaway.

Elrond and Aragorn stood when she entered, staring confused at the strange character that neither removed his hood nor spoke. Aragorn took a step forward after a moment, saying, "Show some courtesy, friend, in the house of Lord Elrond. Remove your cloak, let down your hood; say who you may be. We were told you wished to speak with us both at once, yet you stand here silent."

She stood still a moment longer before carefully removing her hood, and then her cloak, which she folded over her arm. They seemed even more puzzled on seeing her mask – and she still did not speak. Her mask completely covered her ears, so they could not even tell if this stranger was human or elf. Elrond asked, "Who are you, sir, and what is your wish in my city?"

She smiled suddenly, and turned to the door, calling, "I believe it will work, Arwen. It seems to be convincing enough!"

Elrond's daughter entered the room, laughing aloud at the looks of shock on the faces of her father and friend. Adara removed the mask, laughing softly along with her.

The elleth smiled in victory. "I told you that I would take care of how she was to pass as a man. Clearly our efforts are sufficient… If you, Aragorn, who have been her constant companion for five weeks, did not even recognize that she was female, let alone know who she was, how shall others?"

And so Adara disappeared. Few had been aware of her presence in the first place, and to these no real explanation was given. The two maids that cared for her were sworn to secrecy, as the seamstress had been. Adara became a Ranger. Aragorn gave no name when he introduced her to his other men (as many as were in Rivendell at that time, which was only eleven) the next day, saying only that the Breefolk had dubbed her "Phantom" because of her strange ability to disappear from sight. Which ability he left unexplained… The new Ranger was basically a mystery. The Rangers named her Hiljar – meaning silence – and all Rivendell quickly came to know her by that name. Aragorn decided that they would stay in Rivendell for a month – that way she would be well established – before going out into the wilds once more. She never spoke in public except to Aragorn, whispering softly enough no one else could hear, and he said what she had told him. In private, of course, with those who knew that she was a woman, she spoke aloud like normal.

In Arwen, Adara had found a fast friend. Arwen caught herself trusting Adara in spite of what she had overheard that night, and she finally decided that what Adara had said was none of her business. When Adara was ready to tell someone, she would tell someone.

About a week into their stay at Rivendell, Adara and Aragorn were dueling in a training area. It was early in the morning, and no one was really around. He had beaten her several times, and she had returned the favor. This match would decide the victor for the day. They had done this every day so far – he had been the final victor four times, she the other three. She could have beaten him easily if she had assumed her natural form, or used her powers, but he had made her promise not to use her powers on him. Although he didn't know about her normal form, she decided that counted as well. With a quick flick of her sword she disarmed him, flinging his sword far out of reach, and pressing her blade to his neck. He held up his hands in surrender.

"Don't kill me please!" He laughed, mock terror on his face.

She grinned and stepped back, sheathing her blade, and using her power of water to bring his sword back to his hands. He looked at her in surprise; she had never done anything like that before, and he didn't know she could. She realized she had never explained what "water power" meant.

"What was that?" He asked quietly.

"Water."

He gave her a sharp glance. "One of your other powers?"

She nodded. "I never really explained my other powers, did I?"

"No, you didn't. Would you mind doing so?" He asked, not unkindly. He knew that she was careful when talking about herself – her powers, her family, her past… etc.

She held her hand out, and caused some water from a pool nearby to come to her, stopping it over her outstretched hand. There she played with it, forming it in different shapes: cubes, balls, stars, and rings.

After moment, she said, "Basically? I can control water in its various forms – fresh and salt water, vapor, snow, ice, and rain… I can move things, like your sword, by carrying them with vapor. Or any other water form, really, but vapor is fastest and most convenient. I can control weather, to a certain degree, by controlling the water involved.

"Weather is another power completely, so I cannot stop a rain shower or snowstorm, but I can create a temporary one with the water in the air, and I can mess with the strength of a storm that involves water. I can turn myself into water like I can take shadow-form… Though it's not very useful unless I'm drowning. I can put others in water-form as well, but it takes a great deal of energy, more than it takes to turn others into shadow. Which takes quite a toll of energy as well…"

He seemed amazed. "And your power with fire?"

"I can control fire in its various forms: fire, sulfur, lava, and simple coals. That's why I can put my hand directly into a blaze and not be burned – I use my power so the fire doesn't hurt me. I can take fire-form, like water or shadow, and put others in fire-form. It's a pretty useful power for fighting, but not very much else, and usually takes more energy than the other two."

He shook his head slightly in amazement and asked, "What other powers do your people posses?"

She smiled slightly. "Oh, quite a few. There's water, fire, weather, electricity, wind/air (though that's closely related to weather), foresight, cold, heat, animals, language, shadow, light, strength, healing, people, mind, plants, memory, and song. And call."

"And all these can be controlled by the one who holds the Dejen?"

"Well, yes… But I don't know how to without using an incredible amount of energy, and using fire, which is very time consuming. Rather a disadvantage in battle, wouldn't you say?"

He smiled slightly, shaking his again head in wonder at this woman who never ceased to amaze him. Although every now and then (and every time she was near Elrond) she returned to the somewhat formal manner of speech that was like that of the elves and Rangers, and all high peoples, she now usually spoke in a more relaxed, carefree manner that rivaled even the Shire-folk in its oddities of expression. He found (to his alarm) that some of her speech was rubbing off on him. When they were alone, he often caught himself using the same manner. He would have to be careful that he didn't start using it more frequently, as they were going to be spending more time together now that they would soon be traveling again.

"Yes, I suppose that would be. But… some of the powers you listed seem fairly self-explanatory, after you explained your fire and water powers – weather for example–"

"But some aren't so simple? Like people, mind, and memory?"

"Yes."

"People – it's complicated. A pretty powerful one… At it's most basic, it allows you to sense people's emotions, and, well, sort of adjust them. It gives you a great deal of influence over people, because you can influence how they feel. Which can be very helpful, in certain situations. All Amator used to have this power, but it hasn't been so for several thousand years. An Amator with this power is an absolutely infallible judge of character.

"Mind – let's see. Also very complicated. Arwen has told me about how some of the high elves can speak directly into people's minds, without the use of audible words. The power of mind is something like this. It allows you to speak mind to mind, to read the thoughts and memories of an enemy weaker than yourself, and to even move small objects by the power of your thoughts. The most powerful can even inflict intense physical pain in another's mind with a simple glance.

"Memory – it is a peaceful power, like healing. Memory preserves the ancient stories and songs. It keeps alive the history of all peoples – one with the power of memory knows instinctively the history of their own people, and at least one other. They keep the history alive. They are the teachers, the ones who school the children. They help their students learn what is most important – the difference between right and wrong, and love for all people and especially those who are helpless.

"Are there any others you want explained?"

He smiled. "I think that will do for now, although I will certainly ask you another time."

"Very well." She grinned suddenly. "And I believe I am the champion today!"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, my friend, I believe you are – today. Tomorrow is another matter, however…"

"You laugh now. Some day we shall duel when I have my full strength. Then you will laugh no longer!"

"I do not doubt it. But that is for another day; I see no reason to borrow trouble."

She returned the water she was playing with to the fountain, and they gathered their gear and made their way inside. As soon as they left the training area, she pulled her hood up to hide her face, even though she was wearing her mask. They passed several elves, who greeted them respectfully. Aragorn returned the greeting, and she nodded to each, though of course she did not speak. As they were about to part ways, she said suddenly (and softly, though the hall was empty), "Adara is not my only name."

He raised an eyebrow as he turned to her, and simply waited.

"I am Meital – dewdrop, in the tongue of the Nuada. That is what my parents named me. I became known as Adara in Astî; the Astîans did not know my name, and so gave me a new one. After the great battle was won, at the coronation, Aslan gave me my final name, Amala. But few call me that; it is usually used only formally, although it is the only name I am widely known by outside of Astî and my people. Adara is my most common name, and the one I prefer. It is what my family usually calls me."

He nodded slightly and gave her a small smile. "Thank you, Adara. I am glad of your confidence in me, glad that you are willing for me to know this."

"I should have told you before. I intended to… I forgot that I hadn't."

"You need not tell me anything you are not ready for me to know."

"Some things should be known."

"True." He agreed. "And whether this be such a thing or not matters little now. I still thank you for your trust in me."

With that, they parted ways and each continued to their own room (she had moved to a room near his – since she was now a 'man' she couldn't keep a room in the women's wing!) and cleaned up for breakfast.

**Btw - not sure if I said so before, but almost all the names in this story (except canon names, obviously) were carefully chosen for specific characters based on the name meanings. I think that the meanings really add a lot to the story. I'll publish a full list at the end of the story of all the names and meanings, but please feel free to ask what they mean until then. Seriously! It would bless the socks off me if anyone asked!(That is a weird expression...) A couple names will be explained in the text, but not many. So please do ask. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Second update in two days! (I think it was two. Was it three? I don't think so...) Hope everybody enjoys!**

**Also, I was wrong. The scenes in this chapter were longer than I thought. Although our heroine is on her way to Bree to meet the hobbits, she doesn't actually get there in this chapter. But next chapter will start in Bree, and we'll be in Lord of the Ring timeframe from then on. I promise I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can - tonight, if possible!**

Adara lay still on the cold ground, hidden in the shadow of a great rock. To her right she heard the softest of sounds, and knew almost instinctively that Aragorn was inching forward to get a better view of the valley below them. She remained where she was, content to let him be their eyes. If there was anything to see, he would see it. She, meanwhile, closed her eyes and listened. The gentle wind brought sounds to her from the men below them, and she filtered these sounds carefully to learn all that she could.

Harsh voices grated against her ear. The orcs they were hunting were not even trying to be quiet. _...five, six, seven…_ Seven distinctly different voices. There might be as many as twelve orcs in the valley below. One voice suddenly called out above the rest and she listened hard to catch what the orc was saying.

"...pathetic excuses for orcs! Quiet down, or we're likely to have a Tark catch our wind! Orcs don't run the wilds anymore, you rabble, and more's the pity. Ever been tracked by a Tark? Relentless they are. Get one on your tail; you're dead meat. Why'd I have to get the lot that's never been out of the mines before! Shut yer traps before you get us killed!"

Aragorn was moving toward her now, by the sound of it. A moment later he was beside her.

{"What did you see?"} She asked in the softest of tones, knowing that a soft voice was actually harder to hear than a whisper.

{"Five orcs, heavily armed. The largest appears to be the leader, it sounded like he was reprimanding the others, but I could not hear what he said."}

Adara frowned. {"There are at least seven. I'm guessing a total of twelve."}

Aragorn nodded, knowing that if she had heard it, it was there somewhere. {"I don't dare make a move until I know for sure, how many and where."}

{"I'll go look then."}

{"Be careful."}

Adara took her shadow-form, and stood. Focusing on a shadow farther down the slope, she felt her body lighten briefly, and then she was standing in that shadow. This was new to her, a way to use her power that she had discovered only a few months ago. Shifting from shadow to shadow, she made her way down the wall of the valley, and then transferred to the shadow of the rock behind the five visible orcs. As she suspected, the others were behind it. There were twelve orcs in all.

_I guessed right._ She thought with a small smile. There was a reason Aragorn always listened to her. She had a sort of sixth sense for danger, if she thought they were in danger, she was usually right. If she thought they were safe – she was usually right. Actually, she was always right on the second count.

_So far at least._

She turned to go back to Aragorn, and shadow-shifted up to where he waited. When she was beside him once more, Adara resumed her human form. He didn't start at her sudden reappearance – over the past two years he had gotten used to her powers.

{"Twelve in all. The other seven are behind the rock."}

{"You are sure there are no others?"}

She nodded. She had scanned the valley carefully as she moved down into it, and again as she came back up out of it. The orcs were alone.

Aragorn nodded in return.

He stood carefully, and began making his way down into the valley. Adara followed, a little to his left. They usually worked that way; Aragorn stayed to her right, and Adara stayed to his left. That way they could each use their swords effectively, since she was left handed, and they always knew where the other one was.

They made it down without being spotted. Well, he was a Ranger after all, and the very best one at that. And she was Amator, and so was naturally able to do things like move silently through the woods, as well as his pupil. What she didn't already know about the wilderness, and living in it, he taught her. They were a good team, she reflected.

They paused in a copse near the orcs' camp at the rock. Aragorn gestured with one hand, using a common signal for her to listen. Of course he could easily hear the racket they were making – in spite of their leader's scathing rebuke, they hadn't really quieted down. What he wanted was for her to identify as best as she could the exact position of each orc. Adara couldn't tell him, they were too close and would be heard if they so much as whispered. But if she knew, then she would be well prepared, and she could devise a plan far better than he could without the knowledge she would have.

She did as he asked and listened. When she was sure of the various locations of all twelve orcs, she used her hands to tell him the plan.

They would split up. He would wait where he was, and she would take shadow-form, and then shift around to the other side of the orcs. There she would show herself, distracting them, he would attack, and she would disappear. That would make them panic. Aragorn would fight like normal, and she would fight in shadow form to confuse them and throw them off.

Aragorn nodded, and she disappeared from sight. A moment later, Adara was on the far side of the rock that the orcs were camped around. As she shifted shadow to shadow, the leader started berating his followers again, trying to make them quiet down.

"You'll bring every Tark in the wilds down on us! Cut yer racket!"

Adara decided that it was time for her dramatic entrance, and resumed her human form. Stepping out of the bushes that hid her she snarled in the deepest voice she could manage – she'd been practicing, to Aragorn's great amusement, so that if they were ever parted she might be able to speak without giving herself away – "Actually, it wasn't the 'racket' that brought me to you, it was your tracks. Although the noise certainly helped when I got closer."

By the time she finished speaking, the leader had recovered form his shock. He rushed her, blade out. She neatly sidestepped, just as Aragorn jumped out of hiding and began to fight. With a sinister laugh, she took shadow-form again, disappearing in front of their astonished and terrified eyes. (That was another thing she'd been working on. She figured that a seemingly sinister personality ought to go with the name 'Phantom'. Aragorn agreed because it would keep people away from her, and make her even safer from discovery.)

As they rallied themselves to fight off the Ranger they could see, she made her first kill. Her aim was to keep them paranoid and focused on the person that they _couldn't_ see. That would make Aragorn's job easier, and they couldn't hurt her in this form because she was a shadow. Anything she didn't want to touch her would go right through her, the same with anything that she didn't want to touch. She could walk right through walls if she needed to, although it was simpler to just shift into a shadow on the other side. It took less energy to shift from shadow to shadow when in shadow-form than it did to walk through light spaces in shadow-form.

In the orcs' terror and confusion, the two Rangers quickly finished them off. Taking human-form again, she moved quickly to Aragorn's side. This was always his least favorite part of working with her, and Adara knew it. Still, every time they fought, she doctored up any injuries he had 'just like a little mother'. (Yes, he said that one time. She replied that there were far worse things to be than a loving mother. Then she decked him for calling her little.)

{"No injuries, Adara. I'm fine."}

She raised an eyebrow, and shoved him down onto a small rock. He sighed as she examined a small cut on his hand, and smeared on some of the salve that she carried with her for this purpose. He had another cut on his arm and a small nick above his eye, both of which she treated, but the one on his hand was easily the worst. When she was done with her 'mothering', as they called it after the incident where she hit him, she allowed him to stand. They moved all the orc bodies into a pile under the big rock and covered the pile with forest debris. The weapons they took from the corpses and buried.

An hour after the fight, they were already five miles away from the valley.

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Adara lay on her back, hands behind her head, staring up at the stars. To her right the fire snapped happily and on the far side Aragorn lay, asleep.

It had been this way for two years now. 'Hiljar' and Aragorn were constant companions – they had become like brother and sister. Or two brothers, for those who didn't know Hiljar was a woman. In the two years since Adara had 'disappeared' and become her Ranger alias they had become fast friends. Inseparable. She and Arwen were close friends as well. Elrond was still leery of her, but kept his suspicions to himself.

It had been a good two years, she reflected. She had broken down once after that first time, but it hadn't been nearly as bad. The activity of her Ranger life was more than enough to keep her distracted. The time they spent in Rivendell was always the hardest, because it was so peaceful and…safe. At first Aragorn avoided the valley for her sake, keeping the time they spent there to the absolute minimum possible. But she had put her foot down on that, insisting that his whole life wasn't to change for her, and now they spent the same amount of time in Rivendell as he had before he found her.

She had regained much of the strength she had been missing then, though not all of it – that wouldn't happen until she was with him again. But she was definitely stronger than any mortal man; she was even stronger than most males of her own race. It was good to be strong again, she thought.

Aragorn had also been helping her with her powers; she had learned to control her own better than she used to, and to get the same result while expending less energy than ever before. They had also worked with the Dejen, and she could now mostly control air and healing through it, without using fire and a great deal of time like before.

She thought back over the years she had been here. The Breelanders had eyed her with open hostility the first few times she and Aragorn had gone back through the town; even now they still watched her with suspicion. She had been very careful to not use her powers in Bree again, or in any of the settled parts of the surrounding country. They would always fear her, she knew, and it saddened her that it was necessary. But there was no reason for them to fear her more than they already did.

The other Rangers had accepted 'Hiljar' without question, since their leader was the one who added 'him' to their number. However, only Halbarad – the second in command of the Rangers and Aragorn's closest human friend – and a young Ranger named Ithel could really be counted as her friends. The others were courteous and kind, including 'Hiljar' without ever making 'him' feel awkward or like they resented his presence. They simply didn't form real friendships with 'him'. She couldn't blame them; Halbarad and Ithel had enough trouble trying to communicate with her when Aragorn wasn't around.

She enjoyed her life as a Ranger. It was good to be in the wilderness again; she absolutely loved the wilds. She had loved her life at Cair Paravel as well, but she _had_ missed the freedom of the woods. It was also good to be making a difference in this world. She had been afraid when they arrived in Rivendell that first time that she would have to be a proper, refined lady. While she had nothing against being a lady, and certainly had her dignity, she expected that the idea of a 'refined lady' was somewhat different among the elves than among her own people. A lady of the Amator didn't sit and do fancy embroidery; she sewed clothes for street urchins. She didn't host extravagant dinner parties; she fed sick men in the hospitals. She didn't play chess; she led armies of real warriors, and she fought herself. Aragorn's idea to turn her into a Ranger had given her the chance to be what her people would consider a 'real' lady.

She missed Astî though. She missed the voices of the dryads as they floated among the trees that housed their spirits, the voices of the water peoples in the river and the sea, and the other peoples that made up the one people of Astî: dwarves, fauns, centaurs, giants, griffins, talking animals and birds, etc. She missed the gentle loyalty and fierce love of her people, missed the cheers that accompanied any return after an absence, missed the knowledge that any of these creatures would die for her just as she would gladly die for them. Missed the family that all Narnians were. But most of all she missed her own family: her three younger siblings, and especially her nuka. Every second of every day she missed him. All her work could never _quite_ distract her from the ache in her heart.

She would still have dreams that were really memories. Every now and then something she saw or heard would send her reeling with one of the flashbacks she would get during the day.

Aragorn was good at sensing when she was down, and – depending on her mood – either distracting or comforting her. She was pathetically grateful to him. He had changed his ways so much for her sake, and refused to hear her thanks. He always said that she was his friend, and he was not one to leave his friends when they had need.

She rolled to face the fire, smiling at the familiar warmth on her face. Every fire was so different, yet always the same. Every fire in her home as a child, in the wilds west of Astî, in her room in Cair Paravel, in the camps when they went to war, in Rivendell, and here in the wilds, they were all the same. No matter how much changed, some things would never truly change. It was a reassuring thought.

She glanced up in time to see Aragorn stir and open his eyes. He glanced about their camp, checking the perimeter, always watchful. He knew that she would sense any danger long before it was upon them, but old habits die hard. And there was no harm in being extra cautious. When his eyes met hers he smiled slightly. Before he settled back into sleep, she spoke up softly.

{"I do not say this enough, but thank you."}

He smiled again, knowing what she meant. For once he didn't protest, only accepted her thanks.

{"I have a question…"} She asked, since he was awake anyway.

{"Shoot."}

That made her laugh. He had picked up a few of what he called her 'odd expressions' and used them from time to time. Only when they were alone of course, but it still tickled her that he used them at all.

When she finished laughing she asked, {"Why are we going to Bree?"}

While they were in Rivendell he had gotten an urgent message from someone and they set out immediately. He hadn't told her much, only that they needed to get to Bree immediately. They had stumbled on the orcs' trail as they travelled, and had side tracked. He was antsy about the delay, but orcs couldn't be left wandering about so close to the road and to Rivendell. They had already been traveling at top speed, but after they lost several hours to the orcs he had pushed them both to their absolute limits. They would have pushed on through the night, but at this point it was more productive to get a few hours sleep and then start in the morning refreshed.

Aragorn sighed and looked away. She knew from his body language that he was worried about the content of the message, and probably wouldn't share that information in an unsecured location.

{"I received an urgent message from a good friend of mine that requires us to make for Bree with all speed."}

She gave him an odd look. {"He must have a good reason for us to move this fast."}

{"He does. It is a matter of great importance. I ought to have explained before we left the safety of Rivendell; I dare not do so here in the wilds. It will have to wait till we reach the Prancing Pony."}

She nodded understanding, and they each settled down to sleep for a couple hours before they would have to extinguish the fire and move on.

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_Meital ducked the Minotaur's blade and quickly dispatched her opponent. She grimaced, killing sickened her, but sometimes it had to be done. She stayed where she was a moment, breathing heavily. The body of the fallen creature in front of her helped to shield her from enemy eyes and the rocks at her back kept anyone from attacking her from behind. Having caught her breath, she was about to jump back into the fray when a soft cry of pain reached her ears._

_All around her were the cries of the wounded and dying of both sides as the battle raged on, but this was a voice that she knew – the voice of one she had been protecting for days. It was Peter Pevensie, soon to be High King – if he lived that long._

_Meital threw herself over her fallen adversary, dodging the Witch's minions in a desperate race to reach the young man. Her Amator blood boiled, and she resumed her natural form, only a moment after she heard the cry she was at the young man's side and her sword caught the blade bent on ending his life. She was not a moment to soon. Had she not been born Amator, she would never have reached him in time. Had she not assumed her natural form, she would have been a moment too late._

_As she stopped the blow that would have killed him, a knife pierced her arm. He had been fighting three of the Witch's men, a Minotaur and two dwarves, and one of the dwarves had seen her coming._

_Her powers took a lot less energy in her natural form, and Meital instantly heated her skin up so much that the dwarf holding the knife dropped it with a cry of pain, his hand burnt black. She kicked out at him and broke his neck, all in the same moment that she felt the pain. As she moved to fight the others, suddenly something slammed into her from the side, knocking her out of the path of a blade from behind. She and whatever hit her both rolled off the ledge she'd been fighting on and a little ways down the hill. Above them her foes turned to an easier target, and down here the fighting was not so fierce._

_She looked up to see that it was the young king who had saved her life. His face was stern, but kind, as he reached down to help her up. Meital stifled a cry of pain, however, as his hand touched the new wound on her arm. His brow furrowed with concern and he opened his mouth to speak, but cut himself off suddenly, eyes wide. Gentle warmth spread through her body, starting at the wound on her arm. By his facial expression she could tell he felt a similar warmth. She was standing by this time, and looked at her wound in shock as it almost… glowed. Then, before her eyes, it began to close, and heal._

_Meital suddenly seized the hand of the young man before her, and saw a shallow gash on his hand that seemed to be similarly affected. As she watched, it disappeared without even leaving a scar, completely healed. She could feel all the wounds she had received so far heal, and her eyes widened at the confirmation of what had just happened._

_ "__What… What just happened?" Her liege lord asked._

_ "__Blood from the wound on your hand was mixed in both our wounds with blood from the wound on my arm. The mixing of blood… The magic that now links us together has healed us of whatever wounds we had."_

_ "__Wait, what magic?" He sounded terribly confused._

_Meital gave him an odd look. "You do not know of the mixing of blood?"_

_ "__Apparently not?"_

_ "__I see… When blood is mixed in this way, the two persons are linked together, joined by a special bond. Part of you is now with me, and part of me is now with you. We can never be truly whole, save alongside each other. We are now blood siblings, nukar." She explained._

_He nodded slowly, processing what he had just been told. "Well then, blood sister, what is your name? And… I beg your pardon, but I have never seen one of your race before – what... are you?" He asked quietly, with a soft smile._

_Meital laughed. "I am Meital, known here in Astî as Adara. As for my race, have you never heard of the Nuada?"_

_ "__I think Aslan said something about Nuada protecting my family and I…"_

_She smiled. "Yes. That was me. I am Nuada, as we are called in Astî."_

_ "__I assume Astî is another name for Narnia?"_

_ "__It is the name of this land in the tongue of my people."_

_He nodded. "What do the Nuada call themselves?"_

_Meital gave him a keen look. "What do you mean?"_

_ "__You said that you are called Nuada in Astî. But what do you call yourselves?"_

_ "__Amator."_

_He nodded again, about to reply, but was cut off by the roar of some evil thing as it charged them. They both wheeled to face it, fighting together as perfectly as if it had ben choreographed. When it (and a few of its friends who joined the fight) were finally dead, they looked at each other again._

_ "__Is that normal?" He asked. "Being able to predict the other's moves like that?"_

_ "__I haven't the slightest idea. I've never known anyone who was nuka; the last nukar lived almost eight hundred years ago. It is a very rare thing, since the bond cannot be formed deliberately, it only happens accidently." She replied. "But why don't we worry about that later, and for now just focus on staying alive?"_

_He agreed and they rejoined the fight._

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Adara awoke to Aragorn shaking her lightly.

{"Come, we must keep moving."}

She sat up, and he left her in order to hide the place where their fire had burned. The stars were just starting to fade and there was only the slightest hint of rose along the mountains to the east. As she rolled up her blanket and attached it once more to the bottom of her pack, she thought over her dream. Usually when she dreamed of a memory she banished it from her mind the moment she woke up, to keep it from weighing her down and contributing to another breakdown. But this time, she couldn't seem to banish it from her mind.

That had been the first time Adara actually _met_ Peter. She had watched him and his family from a distance as they journeyed, protecting them from the wolves on their trail by confusing the tracks and even engaging the whole pack on her own at one point. And she had used her power with water to save Lucy from drowning in the river. But she had never actually met any of them until the battle.

As the dream replayed in her mind, Adara could almost feel the familiar painful tingle in her arm where the wound that had linked them used to be. It was a feeling she would get whenever her nuka was in danger. Over the past few years she had seemed to almost feel it a couple times, but had always banished it from her mind sternly. It was no use getting herself worked up over her imagination.

Adara gasped suddenly and dropped her pack. Aragorn looked up from his work, concerned. She clutched her arm, trying to stop the feeling. She could really feel it; it wasn't her imagination. Peter was in trouble! But there was nothing she could do to help him.

The feeling intensified, and Adara was in actual pain. She cried out softly, falling to her knees beside her pack. Aragorn was instantly at her side, his arms around her, supporting her. She could hear him asking what was wrong, but his voice was hollow and distant, she could barely make out the words. In pain, tormented by the knowledge that her nuka was in danger and she couldn't help him, she did the only thing she could do.

{"Aslan!"} She cried, her voice ragged. {"Help him!"} She sagged against her friend, and called out more softly. {"You brought me here, where I cannot reach him. You must help him for me. Please Aslan."}

Aragorn was silent now, simply holding her gently, and his mind whirling as he tried to understand what was going on. It clearly had something to do with her brother. Adara was crying now, silently, after the manner of her people. Tears slid gently down her cheeks as the pain intensified and she knew that whatever was happening to her nuka, it was getting worse. As suddenly as it began, however, the pain eased and then disappeared entirely. Her focus on the world came back, clearer than it had been before. That was normal though. Once after the feeling disappeared in Astî she had been able to hear a mouse breathing in the next room. Now Aragorn's breathing seemed as loud as a shout, and his heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her eyes saw everything in sharper focus, every speck on the forest floor stood out. Finally, everything returned to normal.

When she had the strength to hold herself up, she pulled away from her friend's support, giving him a quiet "thank you." Then she picked up her pack and slung it on her shoulders. He watched her incredulously; how could she go through that (it was clear to him that she had been in agonizing pain) and then just stand up, shoulder her pack, and be ready to set off?

{"Adara."} He said softly, and she turned to him. {"What… What just happened?"}

She stared at him for a moment. Those were the exact words from her dream/memory, the first words that Peter had ever spoken to her. Snapping out of it, she answered quietly, looking at him but not seeing him.

{"The wound was on my arm. Now whenever he is in danger, it pains me. I have thought several times over these years that I almost felt it, that pain. But I brushed it off as my imagination. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But this certainly was not."}

She met his eyes, actually seeing him now, no longer staring through him. {"In Astî the pain was always small, just significant enough that I couldn't possibly not notice it. But I was always able to do something, always in a position where I could help. Now… I was not. I think that was why the pain was so terrible, almost as bad as the pain of separation is. I called out for Aslan because, well, there was nothing else I could do. Either for myself, to be rid of the pain, or for my nuka, to be rid of the danger. I could not help him, so Aslan did."}

{"How do you know?"}

{"Because he is no longer in danger, and he is not dead."}

Aragorn nodded. He didn't really understand, but knew that he probably would not no matter how she explained it. {"Are you certain you are alright?"}

{"Yes. I am fine now. But we need to get moving, that cost us a lot of time."}

He nodded and shouldered his own pack, and they started off. He wondered what she had been dreaming before he woke her – she didn't know it but he could tell when she had a dream about Astî. She would occasionally say something in her sleep and was always restless, and very quiet when she woke up. She had been dreaming about Astî that night. He had heard her say something that sounded like 'nukar' and she'd been thrashing around. She'd been having dreams of Astî more often recently, and now her 'link' with her nuka had told her that he was in trouble. Aragorn was getting worried. He prayed that there was no connection between all of this and the Ring.

**So, what do all you wonderful people think of her wacko connection that tells her when Peter is in danger? Btw, the story never explains what the danger was. I never could decided, and eventually decided that it wasn't really relevant. The whole point of the scene is to further explain the intricacies of the nukar blood bond. That's all.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Two things of note:**

**1) Thalion Estel asked if this story will be in Lord of the Rings movieverse or bookverse. The answer is - mostly movieverse. I mess with the events quite a bit - but what remains the same will be mostly movieverse. As will the order of events. I know that some people may find that frustrating, and I understand. However, it is simpler for me to write it that way - and since this story gets veeeery complicated later on, I thought that going the easier route would help keep me from pulling my hair out. So, the Lord of the Rings portions of the story will mostly be movieverse. However, other... places... will not follow either, exactly. I'll leave you to speculate as to what exactly that means... And, as always, I have written a paragraph where two sentences would have sufficed. *facepalm***

**2) I HAVE DECIDED WHAT THE DANGER WAS! But y'all don't get to know until way later. Don't worry, Peter is unharmed. But he was in very great danger indeed - even if he didn't know it. ;)**

_Previously..._

Aragorn was getting worried. He prayed that there was no connection between all of this and the Ring.

Adara sat beside Aragorn with her mask on, hood up, and cloak laced down to her waist. Her friend beside her was wreathed in smoke as the pipe weed in his pipe glowed red. They were both watching the room before them, scanning back and forth through the people. No one dared approach or speak to them, but they received many dark looks from the other occupants of the room.

She had no idea who they were looking for, but she hoped that they got here soon. She was tired; the incident that morning had taken a lot out of her, and then they had journeyed hard to make up for lost time. It would have been easier if she dared to take her natural form while traveling, then she wouldn't have tired so easily. As it was, her human-form had nearly slipped while she was in such pain. And that was not ok. Aragorn had never seen either of her Amator forms. While she wouldn't really mind him seeing her first-form, she definitely didn't want him knowing about her second-form. (Those were the common names of the two forms among the Amator – for purpose of simplification they called the two forms first-form and second-form.) And it was second-form that was strongest, and therefore second-form that had tried to come out.

There was a great deal about herself that she hadn't told Aragorn, Adara reflected. He didn't even know that her human form wasn't her natural form – he thought that human-form was natural for the Amator and her only other forms were fire-form, water-form and shadow-form.

Her tired thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of four hobbits. They were the first newcomers to the common room in nearly an hour, so they instantly grabbed her attention. The other reason she noticed them was because they seemed so terribly out of place, and rather nervous. Aragorn tensed, and she knew that the hobbits had something to do with why they were here. One of them was watching the two Rangers, and said something to his dark-haired friend, who caught the innkeeper's arm as he passed by. She strained her ears to hear his soft words above the din in the room.

"Excuse me sir, those men in the corner, who are they?"

"Who, them? Those are some of them Rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wandering alone in the wilds. What their real names are I've never heard, but here in Bree we call that one Strider, and the other Phantom. You watch out for them, especially Phantom. He's suspected of being a sorcerer, disappeared into thin air two years ago, here in this very room. Saw it with my own eyes. You'll want to steer clear of them, young masters, and not catch their attention."

Adara grimaced at Barliman's words, and was instantly thankful for the shadow of her hood, since both hobbits were looking right at her and Aragorn. A moment later one of the other two hobbits, who was over at the bar and very drunk, started loudly talking about Frodo Baggins, who was related to him. As he spoke, he gestured over his shoulder at the dark-haired hobbit.

_Well, at least now I know what one of their names is._

Frodo leapt to his feet and rushed over to where the loud hobbit was with a cry of "Pippin!"

The hobbit turned to him and pushed him hard – _Yes, he's _very _drunk _– exclaiming "Steady on!" as he did so.

Frodo fell back with a soft cry, and she saw something fly through the air before settling on his finger with a glint of gold. Then the hobbit vanished. Literally.

Instantly Adara assumed shadow-form, and was able to see him. Whatever he had on his finger had put him in the shadow-realm. He looked up and saw her, seeming both surprised and terrified that she was so clear when everything else was shadowy and blurry (like non-shadows always were in the shadow world, especially when the setting was already dim). She took three quick steps and was at his side. Seizing his shoulder, Adara unceremoniously – and silently – pulled him to the corner where Aragorn was standing. Then she knelt down by him and hissed, thankful for all her practice in speaking with a voice lower than her own, "Take it off, quickly."

Terrified, he did as she said. As he did so, Adara shifted back to human-form, and they both reappeared in front of her friend and captain at the same moment. Aragorn seized Frodo's other shoulder and growled, "You draw far to much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill."

_Underhill? Did he not hear the other hobbit (Pippin, wasn't it?) call him Frodo Baggins?_

As he pushed Frodo from the room Aragorn said to her in a low voice, "Stay here and bring the other three up."

She nodded, and then said in her best male voice, just loudly enough for Frodo to hear, "Do not deliberately frighten him, friend. He is scared enough already, and that with little cause. Barliman fed him the usual Bree tales about Rangers, Phantom in particular."

Aragorn gave her a grim look, turned, and was gone. She turned back to the room, which was in an uproar as yet another stranger had vanished in front of them all. All eyes sought her. Only the other three hobbits were frantically searching for their friend and paid her no mind. The townspeople began to speak up.

"We already have one Phantom come through town. We don't need another!"

"Take your sorcery and get out of our town!"

"Phantom! We know you're involved with this somehow!"

"We ought to throw you out of town!"

"Don't bring your friends around here!"

"Yeah! Your kind isn't welcome!"

Until that point she had watched them coolly. However, when she heard the last shout, she lost her cool. Although they couldn't possibly know what had happened to her people or how they had perished, she became wroth. No one insulted her people, who had given their lives to save Astî and their leader.

She could feel herself going to second-form, but couldn't allow herself to do so. Taking a quick breath, she allowed herself to assume first-form. How good it felt! She was thankful for her mask and cloak, else she would have been discovered. As it was, the townspeople saw the Phantom suddenly grow at least a foot in height. His eyes suddenly glowed bright blue, the only thing visible under his mask and hood.

In the voice of second-form she hissed, "Do not speak against my kind! My people gave their lives to protect such happy simple folk as you. And do not be so quick to speak! I am no sorcerer, neither is the hobbit. What is more, I was not connected to his disappearance, though you were so quick to blame me." The room seemed to darken around them as she spoke angrily.

The townspeople shivered at the voice they now heard – the first time anyone in Bree had heard Phantom speak. It didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular, though it was clearly Phantom speaking (this was because it was second-form voice, but she was in first-form. If she had been in second-form the voice would have come directly from her, just like it would have if she had now been using first-form voice.). The voice was light, and yet dark, gentle and soft – and yet deep and strong. It was smooth and lilting, almost hypnotizing – yet it held barely restrained fury. And it basically creeped them all out.

She paused, and turned to the hobbit whose drinking had cause the whole scene. The room returned to its normal dim lighting as she addressed him gently. "Oh foolish one, what trouble have you caused now? Come, all three of you, and I will take you to your friend. My friend took him out of here before anyone saw him again, for fear of the reaction of these worthy townspeople. They do not take kindly to strange things they do not understand, and would have chased him out of town had they found him. Come!"

The last word was clearly a command, and one they could not seem to disobey. Against their wills they found themselves being drawn toward the one Barliman had called Phantom.

Adara took the hands of Pippin and the hobbit that looked almost exactly like him and led them toward the stairs. The other hobbit followed. As they passed out of sight of the common room, she assumed human-form again. The two hobbits she held gasped and looked up at her, and she realized her mistake. They had felt the skin on her palms change.

"What… are you?" The one whose name Adara didn't know whispered. She simply shook her head – since she wasn't in either of her Amator forms she couldn't use second-form voice, and she didn't trust her imitation male voice enough to use it now.

Adara pulled them along to the door of the room that Aragorn always got for her when they came to the Prancing Pony. As they reached it she heard voices inside.

"Are you frightened?"

"Yes." Came the hobbit's small voice, as he answered bravely.

"Not of the right things. No, you're not nearly frightened enough, I know what hunts you."

The third hobbit rushed around her and toward the door; the other two tore their hands from her grasp and followed. She sighed, but made no move to stop them as they burst through the door.

"Let him go or I'll have you, Longshanks!" The third hobbit shouted.

Adara arrived in the doorway to see Aragorn standing, sword drawn and pointing to the hobbits, in the middle of the room. As she watched, he put it away. Clearly he hadn't known it was the hobbits and had reacted instinctively.

"You have a stout heart, small one, but that will not save you." He said, not unkindly. Then he became grim. "You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They are coming."

He glanced up and saw Adara in the doorway. "Come in friend, and bar the door. I fear there will be little sleep for you or I this night – we must watch."

She did as he said then crossed the room to his side and murmured in his ear, "I still do not know what we are watching for."

He gave her a look and said one word – that one word was enough to make her blood run cold.

"Nazgúl."

She took half a step back and stared at him in shock. She knew about the Nazgúl, she knew all about Sauron and how he had tried to enslave the entire world. But she'd been told that the Nine had perished along with their master! How had they survived Sauron's fall?

Aragorn saw the shock and confusion in her eyes and said quickly, "Never mind how. They are abroad, and hunting Frodo. He bears something they need."

At that her eyes darkened. No one would lay a hand on the hobbit while she had any strength left in her body. Instead of confusion her eyes now held determination. Aragorn saw it and smiled.

"I knew that I could count on you, even though I have not yet told you everything. I will do so, but not here. Thanks to that little incident downstairs our position is made far more dangerous."

Adara nodded, and Aragorn withdrew to a chair by the window. She stood at the door, hand on her sword. The hobbits, who had been watching their exchange with some trepidation, were huddled in the middle of the room.

Suddenly Frodo faced Adara and asked, "How were you able to see me when I put it on?"

She looked up and met Aragorn's eyes. He considered a moment and then said quietly in elvish, {"Take shadow-form."}

She did so. The hobbits gasped as Phantom vanished from sight.

"So that's why they call him Phantom." One of them whose name she didn't know muttered. She assumed human-form again, and Aragorn spoke.

"My friend has the ability to take the form of a shadow. Things that are in the shadow-realm can only be seen by another shadow. When you wear _it_, you are at least partially in the shadow-realm, so, when in shadow-form, he is able to see you. He will assume shadow-form as we travel so that he can better watch for the wraiths."

She drew her hood down so she could listen better, wondering what _it_ was, and the hobbits stared at her mask.

"Why do you wear that?" Pippin asked.

Adara just shook her head. If they kept asking questions this was going to get annoying.

"What's your name?" Asked one of the hobbits whose name she didn't know – the one who looked like Pippin.

"What are you?" Pippin again.

"Enough!" Aragorn said sharply. "Leave him be. He wears the mask because he does. His name in Bree is Phantom – you may call him that. And he is a person, not a what. No more questions! You ought to get some rest; we have a long journey ahead of us and we will start at first light."

Reluctantly, they all climbed into the big bed in the center of the room. The Rangers resumed their vigil, and gradually the hobbits fell asleep. They were rudely awakened, however, several hours later.

A ghostly shriek rang through the air and the building seemed to grow cold. All four hobbits jolted awake and sat rigid in the bed, shaking. Aragorn was standing now, still by the window, with his sword drawn, and Adara stood by the door, her sword ready as well.

"They fear fire." Aragorn said softly. Adara nodded and put her sword away. She held her hands outside of her cloak, ready to set them aflame. No other sound or movement was made in the room until after the wraiths, with screams of anger at being unable to find their prey, had gone from Bree.

"What are they?" Frodo asked.

"They were once men, great kings. Then Sauron the deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed they took them, and fell one by one into darkness. Now they do his bidding. They are the Nazgúl, Ringwraiths – neither dead nor alive. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. They will never stop hunting you."

And that was when Adara figured it out. She quickly crossed the room to Aragorn's side and whispered fiercely, "That is what he bears, isn't it? The One Ring?"

"Not now, not here." Her friend said, softly, just loudly enough that she was sure the hobbits could hear.

"No. It must be now. I must know, else I may bring danger to us all. Is it the One?"

Aragorn looked at her strangely and murmured, "Yes."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Then we are lucky. Very lucky indeed."

"What do you mean?" He asked sharply.

Adara debated within herself for a moment before replying. "I have not told you everything about the Amator, you know this."

He nodded.

"Human-form is not natural for us. We have two natural forms, first-form and second-form. In second-form I would be drawn to this thing - the pull would be so strong that I could neither change form nor easily resist. It would be possible for me to overcome the draw, but I know not if I have sufficient strength. When he put it on earlier it should have drawn out my second-form, since I did not know it was anywhere near. I think it was shadow-form that saved me, had I not changed to that when I did I would have certainly taken second-form."

He seemed to understand, although he was clearly confused about these other forms. "Why would it draw you in second-form, and not in any other?"

"You would understand if you knew second-form. Such things always have a draw on a creature of that form. And the draw would be stronger for that this thing is made of gold."

Although she could tell he was very curious about these other forms, he did not ask her to explain them in more detail, for which she was thankful. He knew, of course, that if she planned on explaining she would, and if she didn't want to then no amount of questioning on his part would bring her to do so. Still, she was thankful.

She moved away from her friend, leaving him deep in thought, and returned to her post by the door. As Adara glanced through the room, she saw all four hobbits staring at her. Of course they had heard only Aragorn's part of the conversation, since her words had been breathed in his ear, but that was certainly enough to cause them alarm. Phantom was drawn to the Ring in some way?

Adara cleared her throat and Aragorn looked up. She jerked her head in the direction of the hobbits and saw understanding in his eyes.

"Sleep. You are safe for now. In Bree, and with us to guard you, you have nothing to fear."

"Phantom is drawn to it?" Frodo questioned, fearfully.

Aragorn sighed. "Phantom can take several forms. Human-form, shadow-form, and several others. In one of his other forms, it would draw him. But he is not in that form, and now that he knows what you bear he will not take that form. But, even if he were in that form – Phantom is strong. He would fight the draw, and I have complete confidence that he would triumph over it. Do not fear him. He is your ally and your greatest protector, for with his various forms he is a better fighter even than I."

This answer seemed to help calm their fears and, although they did so warily and with caution, they all lay down once more. Soon the hobbits were asleep.

_In shadow-form and wind-form, Meital and Hitomi slipped through the Witch's camp. They had five minutes to reach the one they had come to rescue and get him untied, then the waiting Astîans, under the centaur Orius's lead, would charge the camp. They would sweep through, collect the prisoner, and be gone, leaving the two Amator to escape the camp by their powers._

_There! The boy was up ahead. A dwarf was stalking around him, sneering and jeering at him. As they approached he stopped and pulled out a wicked looking knife._

_ "__And now? You're going to die." The dwarf jeered._

_The two Amator looked at each other and leapt into action. Meital cloaked the area in shadow, so that none of the evil creatures in the camp could see what was going on. Then they both took human-form, as Hitomi threw the dwarf away from the boy with her power of air._

_ "__I don't think so." The girl growled._

_The dwarf gasped and tried to cry out, but Hitomi stole his breath so that he couldn't speak. He fell to the ground, gasping._

_ "__Don't kill him." Meital said._

_ "__He is a servant of the Witch!"_

_ "__We don't have time for this." Meital responded, drawing a knife and freeing the boy. As soon as he was freed from the tree he slumped to the ground and stared at them in terror._

_ "__Hitomi!" Meital commanded. "Let him breathe!"_

_Reluctantly, the girl obeyed her leader, releasing her hold on the dwarf. He gasped for air. The two Amator quickly gagged the dwarf and tied him to the same tree the boy had been bound to._

_ "__The Witch will probably kill him for letting her prisoner escape, anyway." Hitomi consoled herself. She was rather violent for one of the peaceable Amator, and liked nothing better than destroying those who wrought such evil on Astî._

_ "__Probably." Meital agreed. There was silence for a brief moment as both girls listened for sounds of battle. Moments later they were rewarded with what they had wanted to hear, the Astîan charge._

_Immediately Meital dropped their protective shadow, so that the Astîans would be able to find them, and she and Hitomi grabbed the boy's hands, pulling him off the ground. Hoof beats came their way, and Orius burst through the trees, the Astîans close behind._

_The Amator swung the boy onto Orius's back as he passed; the centaur gave them a nod and was gone. Instantly they took second-form and launched themselves into the air. Great wings lifted them higher and higher, but just before they were out of bowshot Hitomi gave a soft cry and began to fall._

_ "__Hitomi!" Meital dove and caught her, struggling to carry her away from there. To help her leader, Hitomi took human-form. A few minutes later, Meital landed outside the forest the Witch's camp was in, at the place she and Hitomi had arranged to meet the Astîans._

_Moments later, the Astîans reached the spot, but stopped short at what they saw. Meital had assumed first-form, and was bent over her friend._

_ "__Hold on, Hitomi. I will take you back to the camp; we will find the youngest queen. She has been given fireflower juice, and she will heal you."_

_ "__Mei-Meital…" The girl whispered. "I can't… hold on so long. I am going to my mother. Take care of my sister…"_

_The boy saw his rescuer go limp in her friend's arms. The remaining girl began to weep, silently. It wasn't like any crying he had ever seen, tears just streamed down her face like water._

_Meital gently laid her fallen soldier on the ground and knelt beside her. In the tongue of her people she whispered, "Go, beautiful-wisdom. May the spirits of our people lead you to the halls of our fathers in the land of Aslan. May we meet again, some day, beyond the ends of time."_

_As she finished the farewell of Anil, Hitomi's body turned back into its native elements – air and heat – and was gone. Such is the death of the Amator._

_The Astîans looking on were mystified at this, never having seen one of their beloved Nuada actually die, but too grief-stricken to wonder at it long. It was a mournful party that made its way back to Aslan's camp._

Adara woke, tears streaming down her face from under her mask. That was a memory that she never wanted to live over, but her dream had no pity. She looked up and saw all five of the other occupants of the room watching with concern, and Aragorn swiftly came to her side. Sometime around midnight he had told her to sleep, but now she wished she hadn't listened to him.

"Friend, what is it?" He asked softly.

She met his gaze and whispered the name of her fallen friend. "Hitomi."

She saw understanding dawn in his eyes. "One of your memory-dreams?"

Adara nodded, and he sat down beside her, switching to the elvish language.

{"Who was Hitomi?"}

{"My friend. She fell, killed by an arrow from our enemy's camp. It was years ago, but still I feel the pain. I failed her; I was unable even to fulfill her dying wish. She asked me to take care of her young sister – but Dikeledi lost her life in the final battle. Although I tried to protect her, I could not."}

{"And your dream – it was of when Hitomi fell, was it not?"} He asked his voice gentle.

She nodded mutely, then asked, {"How did you know of my memory-dreams? I have never spoken of them."}

He smiled wryly. {"I am not blind. I see your pain when you awake from one of those dreams, though you try to hide it. I am not deaf. I hear you cry out in the night, calling names not of Arda."}

Adara lowered her head and mumbled, {"I didn't realize it was so obvious."}

{"It isn't. But I know you well, Meital."} He said softly, using her Amator name as he often did when trying to comfort her.

They had been speaking aloud, having forgotten the hobbits in the room; it was fortunate that Aragorn had switched to the elvish tongue when he did. It was the voice of a hobbit that reawakened them to their surroundings.

"Phantom, you are a woman?"

They both looked up sharply, realizing that her voice had given her secret away! Before Aragorn could react, Adara spoke.

"What makes you ask such a thing? My voice?"

The hobbit, naturally it was Pippin, nodded. She smiled slightly under her mask.

"You see now why I do not speak. The voices of my people are naturally higher, so that there is little difference between the voices of men and women. Few can tell us apart by our voices besides we ourselves."

That was partly true, first-form voices all sounded like women's voices to an unpracticed ear. Of course, she wasn't using first-form voice; she couldn't unless she was in one of her Amator forms. But they didn't need to know that.

"Really? You _are _a man? But why are your voices so high?" The other talkative one asked.

"Shh, Merry!" Hushed the only hobbit whose name she did not now know. "It's not polite to ask a question like that."

Adara laughed softly. "No, it is fine. I do not know why it is so, small one. Only that it is the way that it is."

{"Did you make that up?"} Aragorn murmured in elvish, {"Or is it truly so in your Amator forms?"}

{"In first form it is so."} She replied in the same tongue, standing up. Then switching back to the common tongue she said, "But now we must be going. Dawn is upon us, and we must be far into the wilds by full light."

**For those who probably aren't going to ask about name meanings - Hitomi means beautiful wisdom. That's why Adara called her that when she died. Just clearing that up.**


	10. Chapter 10

**My sister, who does NOT have an account, by the way, has been bugging me to update because - I quote - "You haven't updated since the FIFTEENTH! Don't you know how LONG AGO that is?!" So yeah, I'm updating to get her off my back. I don't get it - she's my proofreader/editor, so she's read it all already. But for some reason she decided that she's going to die if I don't update right now. And she thinks that SHE'S the mature one! :D What would I do without her?**

**Akka, I ****_know_**** you're reading this. You'd better review, girl!**

_Previously..._

_Then switching back to the common tongue she said, "But now we must be going. Dawn is upon us, and we must be far into the wilds by full light."_

"Where are you leading us?" Frodo asked cautiously.

"Into the wild." Aragorn said grimly.

They had been traveling quite some time now, and it was fully light Aragorn had just announcement that they were leaving the road. He intended to travel through the wilds to save time, instead of following the long winding road to Rivendell.

"I don't like this." The fourth hobbit, who by this time I knew was called Sam, muttered to Frodo. "How do we know we can trust them? And where are they taking us?"

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee, to the house of Elrond." Aragorn called over his shoulder, letting Sam know that he could still hear what was being said.

"Did you hear that Mr. Frodo? Rivendell! We're going to see the elves!"

Adara chuckled and asked softly, "What tales have you heard about the elves, Samwise?"

For the next several hours he told stories about the elves, many of which were not true. She would tell him what was accurate and what wasn't, and his admiration of elves seemed rather to grow despite the fact that much of what he knew of them was fallacy. Listening to the tales also helped to put the other hobbits more at ease, and Merry and Pippin would now and again but into Sam's story and correct him, add something he missed, or just plain finish it. He didn't seem to mind.

Aragorn glanced back at her and they shared an amused glance. The story Sam was currently telling was complete and utter nonsense. Suddenly she tensed, the hobbit's voice fading in her mind as she focused on a distant sound. A ghostly scream rang out somewhere miles behind them, too far away for any of the others to hear, even Aragorn. But Adara heard it.

{"They follow."} She hissed.

Aragorn jerked his gaze to her eyes. {"How close?"}

{"Far enough that you couldn't hear them. I'm not sure how close – but still too close for my comfort."}

He nodded grimly, and they trudged on, thankful that the hobbits hadn't noticed their new tension.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Several hours before they reached Weathertop, Adara felt the presence of the wraiths. They weren't too close, but far closer than she liked. She touched Aragorn's arm.

{"They are closer. I will take shadow-form and scout about."}

{"Be careful."}

She could see the worry in his eyes. {"You know that nothing can touch a shadow, right?"}

{"Another shadow can, and they are half in the shadow world. Amala, be careful."}

Adara nodded soberly. Aragorn rarely used her formal name, when he did it showed how worried he really was. {"I truly do not think they can harm me, but I will be careful. You be careful too, El."}

El was the nickname she had given him a year ago – it was short for _El_essar. Or Est_el_, whichever she preferred right then… She never told him that in Astî El was a girl's name – they weren't in Astî now were they? Anyway, to return the favor, he often called her Ad. That was another thing she didn't tell him – Ad was very close to her family's nickname for her. She wouldn't have been able to handle it, except that Peter hadn't called her Ad; he'd called her Ara. So she was ok. He really had picked up a lot of her quirks; nicknames were just another one of these.

With that, Phantom vanished. All four hobbits jumped; they had been paying attention to the conversation, even though they couldn't understand what the Rangers were saying, because Strider sounded worried. Now they were doubly concerned, remembering what Strider had said the night before about Phantom taking shadow-form to fight the wraiths.

"Why did he go into shadow-form?" Pippin questioned fearfully. "Are those wraiths near?"

"That is what he is going to find out." The remaining Ranger answered grimly.

"Then they might be close?" Sam asked, trying to sound brave.

"It is possible. Phantom has highly developed senses, more so than the elves. He can see things a great ways off, and hear things at even larger distances. He also… I'm not sure how to describe it. He just senses danger."

"So he sensed danger and thinks it is the wraiths?"

"I do not know specifically. He told me several hours ago that he heard them somewhere behind us, but they were far away. Now he said that he thought they were closer, and was going to scout around. He did not say why he thought they were closer, and I did not ask. Their whereabouts are all I need to know."

Silence reigned until they reached Weathertop. As they climbed the hill, Frodo saw clouds to the south swirling as well as an orange glow, and odd flashes of light – or maybe odd flashes of darkness would be a better description, because it looked as though the light stayed the same, only being blocked out now and then by something dark.

"Strider!"

The Ranger whirled, saw what the hobbit had seen, and went white. "Ad, what have you gotten yourself into?" He muttered under his breath. "You can't take them on by yourself!"

Aragorn looked from the horizon to the hobbits and back again, clearly torn. He had to protect the hobbits – they were his responsibility, Adara had a better chance of fending off the wraiths alone than they did, and the fate of Arda depended on the burden Frodo bore. But… How could he abandon the one he considered his sister? Against the wraiths, she might easily face a fate far worse than death. They had the power to turn others into beings like themselves!

As he watched, the disturbance moved farther away, until it was on the edge of his sight – she was far out of his reach now. Then it vanished. She had stopped fighting, whether she had succumbed to the dark powers of the wraiths, fallen in death, or made her escape he could not tell. But he thought it most likely that she had fallen. She would fight to her death to avoid wraith magic (And he didn't know if their magic would affect her anyway, he comforted himself, since she held something far more powerful – the Dejen of her people. A tiny thought betrayed him by pointing out that she didn't know how to use it fully, but he quickly pushed that away. She had once said that her people would not fail as long as the Dejen survived, he reminded himself.) and he did not think it likely that she would escape them. Death seemed the only possibility. And there, in a small hollow on the side of Weathertop, with four small hobbits watching, four hobbits whom he was now solely responsible for protecting, Aragorn fell to his knees with a cry of grief and wept.

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~Several hours earlier~

In shadow-form, Adara moved away from the little group. Her senses of hearing and smell heightened when she took shadow-form, but her sense of sight dimmed. She heard the hobbits question her disappearance, fearfully asking if the wraiths were near. She guessed that they remembered Aragorn telling them last night that she would go into shadow-form in the wilds to watch for the Nazgúl. As she moved father and farther from the group, she heard Aragorn answer them grimly.

_Seriously El? You could at least _try_ to not frighten them!_

She listened to the entire conversation, grinning when Aragorn couldn't find words to describe her awareness of danger. Just after the conversation ended, Adara passed out of hearing range.

Shifting from shadow to shadow, over the next couple hours Adara worked her way in several wide circles around Aragorn and the hobbits. Nothing. At least, nothing that she could see. She still felt the evil dread that announced the wraiths' presence, however.

And then suddenly, something changed. She no longer had a vague feeling of surrounding dread and evil intent. No, it was all coming from one direction – southeast of her position, almost due south of the group that was nearing Weathertop – and was coming rapidly closer. Instantly Adara sped off towards it, shifting shadow to shadow and choosing ones that were far apart in order to move more quickly. As she went Adara reckoned how fast Aragorn and the hobbits were going, and therefore when they would make it to Weathertop.

Although it wasn't much, they would be safer at the old fortress than anywhere in the surrounding country. An aura of goodness lingered there from the good men who built it so long ago, and the Nazgúl would avoid the place if they could help it. If she could distract the wraiths long enough, and lead them far enough away, the others might still have a chance. Adara was aware that she was probably going to die, but she was at peace. If she died, so be it. She would join her people. But she would have liked to say goodbye to the man she had come to see as a brother.

Within forty-five minutes, she reached the wraiths.

_Aragorn should have them climbing Weathertop by now._

The Nazgúl had sensed her coming, and were waiting for her. Adara walked right into their circle, and drew her sword, Lorcán. The wraiths stood still, unmoving. She took first-form, raised Lorcán, and cried out in challenge (using second-form voice which she made dark and threatening).

"I am the Ranger of Rikku, monarch of Astî. I am shadow, water, and fire. I am Amator – the last of my people. Fight me, if you dare!"

As Adara had expected, the Nazgúl were ready for the challenge. All four – _Where are the other five?_ – sprang forward at once, drawing their swords as one. Instantly she ducked, knowing that their blades were likely of Morgul. If she were pierced by a Morgul blade, Adara doubted that even her magic could save her from becoming a wraith like them.

She darted back and forth inside the circle, fighting her hardest, but was unable to break out of it. It didn't help her any, Adara though dourly, that she couldn't actually wound them. If she were to pierce a wraith, her sword would turn to ash and dust. Then she would be weaponless, and with at least three more wraiths to deal with. Yeah, not a good plan.

The Nazgúl were drawing their circle tighter, clearly thinking that she would not be too difficult to deal with. With one of the Rangers out of the way, they would be better able to get at the hobbits. The thought made her furious, and she answered it out loud.

"Not on my watch you won't." Adara growled. Time to pull in the big guns. What was it Aragorn had said in Bree? {"They fear fire."} She muttered.

With a loud cry, Adara put Lorcán in fire-form. The wraiths fell back with shrieks of anger and fear. She would have just gone completely to fire-form, but she didn't dare use that much energy, at least not this early on. When she saw that they were falling back in the direction of Weathertop, Adara shouted in anger (and elvish).

{"Oh no, you don't! Stay and face me!"}

With that she held up her hand and formed a wall of wind that blocked the wraiths' retreat. Let them just try to get through that in one piece! Adara was pathetically thankful that creating the wall used very little energy, and maintaining it virtually none. With new vigor, she attacked the wraiths.

For almost half an hour they battled, Adara calling on all the powers she could readily use that would be of any use to her. She used first-form for the agility and quick motion it was capable of, darkness to make her fire seem fiercer than it actually was and to confuse the wraiths' sense of direction, wind to keep the Nazgúl from retreat to Weathertop and focused on her (and occasionally to blow a stray wraith away from her), and fire to actually fight. She successfully set two wraiths on fire before one of the Nazgúl managed to wound her.

Somehow, she lost track of a wraith, and it got behind Adara without her seeing it. Just as she set the second wraith on fire she felt a searing pain in her chest. As she fell to the ground she saw the blade, now stained with her own blood, in the hands of the wraith that stabbed her. It was not a cursed blade. She was going to die, but she would not become a wraith. As her strength left her, her powers failed – the wall of wind faltered and then disappeared, Lorcán returned to sword-form, and the darkness she had created faded away. She would die under a free sky full of stars, in the defense of the innocent of Arda. What more could she ask for?

The world and wraiths faded; so did her pain. Everything went black.

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The four Nazgúl had finally accomplished what they set out to do. The powerful Ranger was dead. While two of the wraiths struggled to put out the flames the Ranger had set in their concealing cloaks (their anger smoldering at the intense pain of the burns they had received – few things can harm a Ringwraith, but fire is one of these) the unharmed Nazgúl started toward Weathertop, only to see the summit flash with flames as they drew close. Others of their kind came flying down from the old fortress, screaming in agony, wreathed in flames.

The two approaching wraiths shrieked in anger and fear, but their captain, the Witch-king, ordered silence. The hobbit that carried the thing had received a wound at their chief's hand, a wound that would force him to succumb to their will. Satisfied, and finally no longer on fire, the Nazgúl regathered and headed off into the night. They would bide their time.

**Please don't kill me! I guess I should have warned you about character death or something, but still! The story isn't over yet - far from it! We still have to deal with losing Adara and see how her loss affects the rest of the story!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Ok. Ordinarily I would update my other stories first - since I've been dedicating a lot of time to My Nuka recently. However, I decided not to be too cruel and keep y'all waiting...**

_Previously..._

_Satisfied, and finally no longer on fire, the Nazgul regathered and headed off into the night. They would bide their time._

Sam waited by the bed of his master and friend. They were finally safe in Rivendell and, although Frodo had yet to wake up, Gandalf had assured Sam that he was sure to recover. It had been a terrible journey to get Frodo there.

They had fled Weathertop as soon as Strider said the wraiths were far enough away, and continued to flee toward the safety of Rivendell for the next week. One night Strider had taken Sam to get the leaves of a plant, Kingsfoil, which Strider called Athelas - a common weed that he said would help slow the poison in Frodo's wound. Instead of the leaves, they had brought an elvish lady back to camp. They had met herin the woods and she apparently knew Strider. He called her Arwen.

Strider had put Frodo on her horse and she had galloped off intot he night. They hadn't learned about the rest of her journey until four days later (that morning, actually), when they finally reached Rivendell.

She had been chased by the wraiths - all nine of them - but had managed to reach the ford of the river outside Rivendell. When they had tried to cross the river to attack, the magic of the elves cause the river to flood, protecting her and Frodo.

Sam woke, realizing that he had fallen asleep, to hear voices in the room. Being the curious hobbit that he was, he pretended to still be asleep so that he could listen.

_Pippin must be rubbing off on me._

Luckily for him, the conversation was not in elvish.

"I don't know what happened, Gandalf, but I am sure of his death." It was Strider's voice, and he sounded close to tears. "He would die before succumbing to their will, and I hope that his magic would protect him from such a wound as Frodo received. He certainly could not have escaped them, and even if he had he would have found some way to rejoin us by now. No, my heart is sure that he has fallen."

Silence reigned for a long minute. The tone in Strider's voice sent Sam back to Weathertop for a moment, when they first knew that Phantom had fallen and Strider had given way to grief.

"Then he gave his utmost for Arda. You can be proud of him, Aragorn, though I know his death is a severe blow. There is really nothing that I can say in comfort."

"I am proud of him, Gandalf. Do not doubt that. But you are right - it does not lessen the blow."

"He must have been more than merely one of your men for it to affect you so." Gandalf observed.

"He was. It sorely grieves me when any one of my men falls, but Hiljar was more than one of my men; he was my brother. Or so I viewed him, and I know he saw me as the same. We have been constant companions for two years." Strider finally had control again; his greif was no longer so prevalent in his voice - at least not in the form of tears."

"I have never heard of him before this day, Aragorn. Who was he, and where did he come from?" Gandalf asked carefully, trying not to cause his friend more grief.

"I found him in the wilds, weak and dying, attacked by wolves. After I fought off the pack, I cared for him in a nearby cave until he was well enough to travel. Then I brought him here, to Rivendell, where he became one of my men."

"And why did he always travel with you? Previously, you have preferred to work alone."

"That was partially because Lord Elrond did not trust him at first. There were other reasons as well - I suppose it does not really matter now, but I still will not tell his secreets."

Silence. Sam dared to slit his eyes open - just as Gandalf looked straight at him.

"Well! Up to your old tricks, Sam?" Only this time, you're not listening under a window. We have ourselves an eavesdropper, Aragorn. And what have you to say for yourself, my hobbit?"

The twinkle in Gandalf's eyes showed that he wasn't really angry. Strider's face was more or less impassive, like usual. It was Strider that Sam adressed, completely ignoring Gandalf's question.

"I know things don't look good for Phantom, Mr. Strider. But we don't _know_ he's dead yet, do we? For certain sure, I mean. You said he was a better fighter than you, and you fought them off. Could be he kept the other four away from us, maybe, followed them to the ford and helped the river chase them away. I know it's not likely, but there is still hope. You can't give up hope, not until you absolutely know he didn't make it."

The Ranger and Wizard both looked rather surprised by the hobbit's outburst; actually, Sam was quite surprised himself.

_Now where did that come from? Put it in higher sounding language and it's like something Mr. Frodo would say._

"Well said, Sam." Strider said, very quietly. "And you are right. Thank you, my friend. I will keep some hope until we are certain of his fate. The the Ranger turned and left the room.

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"Amala. Open your eyes."

The last daughter of Anil did as she was told, and was met with a bright, yet soft, golden light. When her eyes adjusted to it, she saw she was lying on the ground in the middle of a forest. The trees were huge, and spread far apart, but they did not block the sunlight and there was no undergrowth. In the branches overhead a number of brightly colored birds darted to and fro, singing loudly. Instead of a riot of birdsong, however, it seemed to form a complex sort of music. Behind the music of the birds, there was a sort of background of immense silence. The air was cool and fresh, and everywhere that she looked the forest stretched on without end or variation. (A.N. Description paraphrased from The Silver Chair.)

"Amala."

Adara turned around to find the One who had spoken. There behind her stood the Lion. Aslan. Son of the great Emperor over the sea. King of Astî.

"Aslan!" She cried, and rushed to his side, flinging her arms about his neck and burying her face in his mane. The Lion purred softly. Suddenly she pulled away, confused. "Aslan, what happened? I thought I died... did I? Am I in your country?"

"You have not died."

Adara stared at him. "How can I not have died? I was stabbed by the wraith, wasn't I? Am I misremembering?"

He chuckled slightly. "You are full of questions, child. Sit."

She did so and he lay down, catlike, by her side.

"You were stabbed by the wraith, and will bear the mark of that wound to the end of your days. But you have forgotten the Dejen. As long as the foundation of your people survives, your people will remain. The magic contained in the Dejen saved your life." Aslan said, quietly. "And you are in my country, for now. But you will not be here long. Your friends need you."

"Aslan, was this what you meant? At the coronation? You said that Astî would need me before the end, and so would lands far more distant. Were you talking about Arda?"

"I was. Arda, and many other worlds. Your people know much, Princess of Amator, but there is much they do not understand. The worlds are many, yet they are also one. As my Father and I are one. We created them, so they cannot be completely separate.

"When Lucifer, known in Arda as Morgoth, fell from his place in my service and corrupted the worlds, they were split. Yet they still are connected; they cannot be wholly severed from each other without the destruction of all. Therefore, what affects one world will, be it directly or indirectly, affect another as well. When the power of evil in one world grows, it strengthens the evil in another. The same is true of the powers of goodness. So you will directly influence the fates only of Arda and Astî, but indirectly you affect all the worlds." Aslan stood. "Come. Aragorn, your brother, is greatly grieved, for he thinks you fallen. You must return to Arda. But you will not return to the same time that you left it, nor to the same place. Time moves at different paces, and it is already nearly a week after you battled the Nazgúl. I will send you where you are needed, but it is time for you to be known as a woman."

"Aslan?" Adara questioned, stopping him. "Where… What happened to my brother and sisters? Where are they?"

"I sent them back to their own world, Amala. Their time is Astî was done. Have no fear, dear one. You will see them again, and in the land of your heart. But do not focus on this, you will need all your strength to defeat the darkness you now fight."

"What do you mean?"

"There is more in this than meets the eye, dear one. Be warned, the Ring's pull will be hard for you to fight."

"Will you help me, Aslan? I am frightened of what I may have to do to protect Arda, and the reactions of everyone who knows me as Hiljar. Will you help me to make the right choices?"

He raised his head and looked her in the eyes. "I am with you always, even to the end of the world. Do not fear. I will never leave you." As he spoke the color of his mane filled her vision, until finally even his face disappeared in a swirl of gold. Slowly the gold faded, leaving her standing, in her usual attire/disguise, in the center of a circle of men, dwarves, and elves. She instantly knew what was going on, though how she knew, she couldn't say. It was the council of the Ring.

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When Adara appeared in the middle of the council, every person there instantly leapt to his feet with a shout. She couldn't blame them, someone had just appeared out of thin air in the middle of the room. In spite of the uproar, however, Adara heard a harsh cry on one side. At the sound of the cry all the noise ceased and she turned in the direction of the noise, although she was already sure of who was standing there.

Aragorn was staring at her, his face more expressive than she had ever seen it before. A mass of emotions struggled there; hope, fear, disbelief, anger. Slowly, he took two steps forward, and then he was suddenly standing right in front of her.

"Ad?" His quiet voice was strangled with emotion, almost tremulous.

{"Yes, Aragorn, it's me."} She said, softly enough that only he could hear her voice.

"Where… What happened?"

"That is something I would like to know as well." Adara heard Elrond behind her.

"Is it Phantom?" Frodo asked from the side. A moment later, she was attacked with hugs from four exuberant and rather excited hobbits, three of whom were not supposed to be present. To the surprise of everyone at the council, especially those who were acquainted with Hiljar, she laughed.

Glancing up at Aragorn from her new position on the ground _(Thank you hobbits! Note the sarcasm…)_ she said as softly as before, "Can I talk with you for a moment?"

He looked confused, but nodded, and helped her remove the hobbits and stand up. Then he quietly said, "We will return directly."

Before anyone could question or protest, he pulled her far enough away from the circle that, although they were still in sight, they were out of hearing of all – even elves. As soon as they were far enough away he turned to her, but she quickly cut him off.

"Ok; first off, I know you are going to scold me for taking Nazgúl on by myself. You will tell me it was reckless and I could have gotten killed. And yes, you are absolutely right. Now _that's_ out of the way."

In spite of himself, Aragorn grinned.

"Second, oh El, Aslan took me to his country! I was almost in Astî!"

Now he just looked confused.

"Third, I should have died. I _would_ have died, except for the Dejen. I don't know if you remember, but I told you once that as long as our foundation lasted, so would the Amator. I am the last daughter of Anil, and the Dejen is still well, so I could not die. Aslan said its magic for healing saved my life."

"Where have you been then?" He asked with some anger in his voice.

"In Aslan's country. I was only there for a few minutes before he sent me back, but he said that it was about a week here. Time passes differently in different places; I told you that too, when we left Bree that first time. Do you remember?"

Slowly nodding, Aragorn replied, "Yes, I remember."

"There's one more thing…" Adara trailed off.

"Well?"

"He said that I'm not to go as a man any longer."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "That's going to go over so well."

She stared at him in surprise. "That's it? No protest, no trying to make me see reason? Just one of my own expressions, and you're good?"

He shrugged slightly, a gesture that looked totally out of place on the stern Ranger. "You place a great deal of faith in Aslan. I place a great deal of faith in Illuvatar. They are one and the same person – are they not? – simply given different names in different worlds. If Aslan said you are not to go as a man any longer, then how can I argue? I am not sure how it is going to go, considering some of those present, but you know that I will stand by you, my sister."

"Then let's get this over with?"

They returned to the circle. Already they were back to their brother/sister relationship where they simply worked together without questions or problems. She knew that he absolutely would support her as he had said, and it gave her a great deal of comfort.

"Are you prepared to explain yourself now, Hiljar?" Elrond asked. "Everyone here knows of your death, and though all are overjoyed to see you alive, we are also quite shocked."

Everyone who knew Hiljar waited for 'him' to whisper to Aragorn, and Aragorn to relate what his friend had said.

Adara took a deep breath. This was it, the moment when everyone would know that Hiljar was actually a woman.

"I am prepared to explain, Lord Elrond. But I ask that no one interrupt until my explanation is finished."

Once again, the council (except for the dwarves this time) was on its feet in hubbub. The most distinguishable words were along the lines of, "A woman?"

Elrond gestured, and then shouted, for silence. When the council finally settled down one of the dwarves grumbled, "I don't see the problem. The Ranger is a woman. So?"

Adara turned to him with a smile. Although her hood was down, she was still wearing her mask and cloak. "Among the dwarves women are workers and fighters alongside the males. So it is also with my people. But for Elves and many races of men, it is not so."

"Your people?" A redheaded man among the men she had identified as Gondorian by their distinct dress questioned. "You are not human?"

She glanced uncertainly at Aragorn before answering, "I am not."

"Then what are you?"

Hesitating for a moment, Adara removed her hood and cloak. Pippin, helpful for once, took them for her. She thanked him with a look. Glancing at Aragorn again for reassurance, she said quietly (but loudly enough for all present to hear), "I am not human, though I am in human-form. Nor is my race native to this world. I am the only remaining of my people."

She faced the man who had questioned her. "I am of the Amator – the last daughter of Anil." As she spoke, Adara took first-form. For the first time, Aragorn saw one of her Amator forms.

She was tall – taller than any woman anyone there had ever seen – at least a foot taller than she was in human-form. And she was not a small woman in human-form.

Her hair looked as though it were forged of soft gold and fell in waves to her feet. There were streaks of white in it; almost the color of mithril, almost the color of clouds on a summer day, almost the color of snow, not quite any of these. There was also a single strand of blue in the midst of the white and gold.

Her skin showed the gentle color of a young child blooming in the sunshine, except for her hands (starting about half-way up her palms) and lower arms. There it was a soft, blue and seemed to be more like scales, or maybe some sort of armor, not skin.

Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky, possibly even bluer; they were the same color as the single blue streak in her hair, but brighter than the soft blue of her arms.

She had allowed her clothes to change this time with the transformation. Now she wore a long white gown that gently brushed the tops of her bare feet, a golden bracelet on each wrist, and a golden necklace from which hung the Dejen – a beautiful blue stone the same color as her eyes, to those who didn't know what it was. On her head was a simple circlet of gold.

On the palm of her left hand was a blue mark in the shape of a dragon, and on her left cheek was a white swirly mark that slightly resembled a star. Strangest of all, she seemed to glow with a soft gold-white light.

The entire council, Aragorn included, simply stared at her for a long moment. No one there had ever seen anything more beautiful. It was Aragorn who finally broke the silence.

"I assume this is first-form?" He asked softly.

Adara just nodded.

"This is the form of the Amator?" The redhead asked.

"We have two forms. This is first-form; I will not take second-form now, nor anywhere near the Ring." She responded.

"Now that we've established what Phantom's race is," Frodo spoke up, "perhaps we could allow her request to be permitted to tell her tale without interruption?"

Elrond nodded at her to begin. So, taking a deep breath – hey, this was stressful stuff, even for the Princess of Astî and Amator – begin she did.

"Most of what I have to say will be understood by very few of those present. That is as it should be – those who need to know will understand. While in shadow-form, I sensed the Nazgúl away to the south of Aragorn and the hobbits. They were approaching quickly and I went to intercept them, hoping to give the others enough time to reach Weathertop where they would be safer. When I reached the wraiths, I engaged them in battle. Only four of them were there, else I would have fallen far sooner than I did. Eventually one managed to deal me what should have been a fatal blow, and I passed into the darkness of death. Before I died, however, the magic contained in the Dejen healed me. As long as the foundation of my people endures, we cannot wholly die out. I woke in Aslan's country. Although I was there only about a quarter-hour, here a week passed. Aslan had many words for me, answered my questions, and explained to me something he had said many years ago that had long puzzled me. Then he set me back in Arda, in the middle of this council, as you all saw." She concluded.

As soon as he could tell that she was finished speaking, the redhead from earlier burst out, "Who is this Aslan, and where is his country? How could so little time pass in that land, while so much time passed here? And what is this Dejen? Shadow-form? You speak in riddles!"

"It is my habit to speak often in riddles, and I said that few of you would understand." She murmured with a slight sigh. "While I will leave it mostly unexplained, Frodo, at least, ought to know. So I will explain some of what I have said – but only those things that he needs to know or does not already understand. The Dejen is the foundation of my people, from it comes all our power. I need not explain shadow-form, Frodo knows of it already.

"Aslan is known in Arda as Illuvatar, and who can say where his country is? Beyond the reaches of time and space, that is the best answer I can give, though I doubt it is entirely accurate.

"And as for the question of time – time differs between worlds. It is twisted and bent, and passes at different paces. That the amount of time passed was different in the two lands is no great thing."

Elrond announced that he was satisfied with her answer, and asked that they get back to the matter at hand. Dismissing the other three hobbits with a stern look he said, "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Adara took a seat beside her brother and watched the remainder of the council. The redhead, whom Aragorn told her was named Boromir, spouted a bunch of nonsense about how the Steward of Gondor, who happened to be his father, was protecting all the rest of Arda by the blood of the Gondorians. (Every Ranger present moved impatiently when he said that; they knew better than any other that Gondor only stopped the evil at one crossing of the river; they dealt with the rest of the overflow.) Boromir begged the council to entrust the Ring to him, that he might carry it to Gondor, as a weapon against its maker.

After listening for quite some time, Aragorn finally cried out, "You cannot wield it! None of us can!" Then a little calmer, "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master!"

"And what would a _Ranger_ know of this matter?" Boromir asked caustically.

"More than you do, apparently." Adara muttered under her breath. Aragorn gave her a look, but then smiled slightly.

"This is no mere Ranger." An elf across the way leapt to his feet in response to Boromir's snub. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"This… is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor."

{"Sit down, Legolas.} Aragorn requested quietly. Reluctantly, the elf did so. Adara gave Aragorn a questioning look and he murmured to her, {"Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood. Son of King Thranduil."}

{"Ah. I seem to have missed the introductions."}

{"You did. But Legolas and I are friends of old."}

{"Oh."}

As Aragorn explained the identity of the elf, an old man with a long grey beard was speaking. Adara did not know him. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

"There is only one way." Elrond said grimly. "The Ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" A red bearded dwarf growled, jumping up and pulling out his axe. He swung it down toward the Ring with all his strength. Adara knew what would happen – his axe would shatter, and the Ring would be unharmed.

In that instant Aragorn looked to her, his eyes confirming her in what she was about to do, and she was on her feet. As the dwarf's axe was reached the Ring and shattered, she sent a burst of wind from her hands that sent him to the ground – shaken, but otherwise unharmed. She also sent a swirl of wind around the pedestal the Ring was on, preventing the broken pieces of the axe from flying all directions like shrapnel, and harming random members of the council.

When the shrapnel settled to the ground Adara allowed the wind to drop. She took her seat again, ignoring the looks from the rest of the council.

"Thank you, Hiljar." Elrond said calmly. Then he turned to the dwarf, not leaving any time for questioning. "The Ring can not be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft we here possess. It must be taken deep into Mordor, and cast in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. One of you must do this."

Dead silence.

_Does he really expect someone to jump up yelling, "Pick me!" and waving his arms in the air?_

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with smoke and ash. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly." Boromir said hopelessly, but with an underlying hint of desperation in his voice.

"Have you heard nothing that Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!" Legolas was on his feet again.

_He's about as hotheaded as Boromir, in his own way. Uncommon for an elf…_

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?" Gimli challenged angrily.

"And what if we fail?" Boromir cried. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" Gimli shouted at Legolas. That did it – the feather that broke the camel's back. The council erupted; chaos ensued. Everyone was on his feet. Legolas was holding back his Mirkwood kin from attacking the dwarf that had just insulted their leader, the dwarves were all bunched up supporting Gimli and hollering at the elves, and the men from Gondor were just shouting at anyone and everyone, as far as Adara could tell. She was only able to actually distinguish four words amid the noise; "Never trust an elf!" She guessed she was probably hearing Gimli. Only Adara, Aragorn, Elrond, and Frodo were still sitting; the old man, who she guessed was more than he appeared as he had an air of magic about him, had stood to try and break up the fights. He wasn't having much success.

Suddenly Frodo leapt to his feet. "I will take it!" He cried. No one heard him. He glanced at Adara. She stood.

Lifting a chain that was hidden in her clothes she revealed a little silver whistle, shaped like a curious flute. A gift from Tumnus, long ago, that she had happened to be wearing the day she came to Arda. Although she hadn't used it in years, since months before she left Astî, it still rang clear. Everyone turned at the sharp, shrill note. Aragorn, sitting beside her, muttered, {"You might have warned me to cover my ears."}

Adara ignored him and faced Gimli. "You will be dead before you see the Ring in the hands of an elf. Are you willing to carry it then?" She paused, waiting for a response. When she received none, she turned on Boromir.

"It is folly? Perhaps so. No one said there was great chance of success. But can you suggest a better way?" He did not answer.

"You fight and you bicker… Children! That is what you sound like! Do you not see? This is your great weakness! This is Sauron's great joy!

"A fortress is built of individual stones, put _together_, working together. Each single stone can do nothing more than trip the enemy. Only together are they any good. What wall will keep out a host when it lies breached in two? And you are stones – scattered about in your own factions, bickering amongst your different peoples, even among your own peoples.

"These are the ones who will save Arda, who will shatter the strength of Sauron, and stem the rising tide? _That_ is folly, to think that any one of you, person or people, can do it alone. Together you must stand, or I say to you now that one by one you will fall.

"While you bicker; each one declaring that another should not be permitted to do this yet no one offering himself, one with more courage than any of you has risen to the task. And you are so caught up in yourselves that you did not even hear him."

Having finished her rebuke, she turned to Frodo. "I think they will hear now."

The hobbit visibly plucked up his tremulous courage. "I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though… I do not know the way."

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." The old man said gently, stepping up to Frodo.

Aragorn stood. "If by my life or death I can help you, I will." He knelt to the hobbit. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow." Legolas said, stepping up.

"And _my_ axe." Gimli growled, not about to be outdone by an elf.

_Did he hear nothing of what I just said?_

"You carry the fate of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, Gondor will see it done." Boromir joined the group. Adara wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or pleased that he had stepped up, but she didn't have time to think about it because at that moment Sam burst into the council.

"Ay! Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me."

"Indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is invited to a secret council, and you are not." Elrond said mildly, amusement on his usually stern face.

"Hey, we're coming too!" Merry and Pippin shouted.

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us." Merry finished.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing." Pippin added decisively.

"Well that rules you out, Pip." Merry whispered to his friend, who scowled at him.

"Nine companions…" Elrond said, then looked to Adara. "Daughter of Anil. Will you go on this quest?"

After Boromir volunteered, Adara had been struggling. Fortunately, it had gone unnoticed by all, even Aragorn, and she guessed she had the other three hobbits to thank for that. The Ring was trying to get to her, trying to draw out her second-form so that it could control her. She could hear it whispering in her mind, although she tried to shut it out, tried to block its voice.

_Aslan help me…_

When Elrond addressed her, the entire council turned to Adara. To their absolute surprise, she was pale, and visibly trembling. She completely ignored everyone; actually, she barely even heard the ellon. She had her eyes closed and was focused on one thing, the Ring. It was trying to take her mind.

_Aslan help me! _

She prayed again, begging the Lion for strength. And he gave it. But when the Ring felt her resolve renewed and its hold on her mind slipping, it suddenly spoke aloud in the tongue of the Amator. Happily, it was a tongue that of those present, only Adara understood.

**[****"Take me. You cannot fight forever. You ****_will _****obey me. Put out your hand, take me, bring me to my master!"]**

["I serve the Lion, and no one else. Only the word of Aslan will I obey. Be silent, accursed! And try me no more. Your chance is gone. Be silent."] She said calmly, but the strength of the Lion could be heard in her voice. After a moment, she turned to Elrond.

"Nine companions. I will not join in. This thing sees me as a weakness, and tries to draw me, because it does not know my race. Ordinarily such a draw would have little effect, but since it is not of my world I do not know if I can resist it – save through trial and error. Which is clearly not a good idea. Therefore I will remain as far from it as I can until I have spoken with Aslan again."

With that, Adara crossed the circle to Aragorn's side and said quietly, "Fare you well, brother. You know how to contact me?"

He nodded, and took her arm, his hand clasped about her wrist and her hand about his in the usual Ranger greeting/farewell. "Where do you go?"

"The wilds. Listen for my voice on the winds, and call me if you have need. I will bid Arwen goodbye ere I go."

"Go in peace then, sister. May the days that greet you be fair."

With that he released her arm, and she turned and left the council.

**So... Y'all are probably up in arms because I let you think that Adara was dead... I will point out that I never ****_said_**** she was dead. It was a possibility, and a logical conclusion.**

**blue mountain fairy - I told you that she would not be resurrected, and I want to reiterate it - that is one hundred percent true. When she actually dies, she actually dies. She just hasn't quite died yet. :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi! I just finished studying for a test, and am updating to keep my mind occupied with things other than impending doom if I fail... Ahem. My sister is probably going to read this, and roll her eyes at me - but oh well.**

**I do not own the song in this chapter. It is called "Across the Universe of Time" and the version I know is by Hayley Westenra. Not sure if she actually wrote it... I thought it fit perfectly. If you don't know it - or know her version of it - you should really look it up. It will add so much to the chapter if you do. :)**

"You go to Saint Finbar's?"

Susan looked up to see a rather geeky looking boy staring at her intently. Actually, he looked nervous.

_Oh great…_

"Yes." She replied politely, turning back to her magazine and discreetly giving him the message that she didn't want to talk.

"I go to Hendon House, across the road. I've seen you, sitting by yourself."

"Yes, well, I prefer to be left alone." Susan answered, still polite, and she buried her nose in her magazine.

_Please, please let him go away!_

"Me too!" He stammered, not taking the hint. "What's your name?"

_Oh gosh, are you really that dense? Or are you just playing dumb? I really don't want to talk!_

"Phyllis." She said pleasantly.

"Susan!"

At the sound of her name, Susan jerked around to see her little sister running toward her.

_Perfect timing Lu – no sarcasm there. Now he knows I lied about my name. __And__ he knows my real name!_

"You'd better come quickly!" The look in her little sister's eyes said it all. Peter. Susan grabbed her school-case, the annoying boy beside her completely gone from her mind as she worried about her older brother. She followed Lucy, running across the street and into the train station.

As they entered they saw kids school age running in the same direction they were going. Up ahead Susan heard a crowd chanting, "Fight, fight, fight, fight!"

The two girls pushed their way through the mob of kids only to see their older brother getting thoroughly beaten, despite the valiant fight he was putting up. He was up against three or four kids all older and bigger than him. As they watched, their other brother Edmund shoved his way past them and jumped on one of the guys fighting Peter, evening the fight a little. The two brothers worked together, each watching the other's back.

Suddenly a sharp whistle cut through the din, and the crowd dispersed as two police officers ran up. They broke up the fight, giving each boy a shake.

"Act your age!"

The two brothers joined their sisters on a bench to wait for their train.

"You're welcome." Edmund muttered dryly.

"Yeah, thanks Ed."

"What happened?" Susan asked.

"He bumped me." Peter cracked a small smile.

"So you hit him?" Lucy asked, her voice scaling in disbelief and breaking slightly.

"No. After he bumped me, they tried to make me apologize. I tried to just walk off, but they all four jumped on me. That's when I hit him." Peter explained.

"Really?" Edmund muttered, supporting his brother whole-heartedly. "That's just… wow. Why on earth would they – what reason could they possibly come up with to justify that?"

"I, for one, am glad." Susan said quietly.

Her siblings turned to her questioningly.

"Lucy didn't say what was wrong when she came to get me. I was afraid…" She didn't finish her sentence; she didn't need to. They all finished it in their minds.

_I was afraid Peter was having a dream again, in the middle of the station._

For the past two months, Peter had been having these dreams. Usually they came in his sleep, but sometimes in the middle of the day he would just sort of… shut down. He would slump over in a daze-like state, unaware of the world around him, and have one of those dreams.

At first they had been about Adara.

_Oh Aslan, we all miss her so! Especially Peter…_

In those early ones Adara had been in the wilderness somewhere, probably the Western Wilds by the look of things, wandering about, weaponless, and clearly growing weak. Then he had dreamed that she was attacked by wolves and was too weak to save herself, but a man in dark clothing had appeared and saved her. There had been dreams where the two were travelling together, until they had reached a curious city in a valley.

They were all very curious about that. Were there civilized kingdoms far beyond the wilds that were unknown to them, or was Adara not where they thought that she was?

After the two reached the city, however, Peter never saw his sister in the dreams again.

Instead, the dreams followed the travels of the man who had saved her, and his new companion. The second man was rather mysterious, always wearing a mask and a cloak with a hood. There were dreams where they were fighting evil creatures, mostly orcs and some sort of disgusting wolf thing. At other times they were in that city. Most recently they had gone to a small town they often passed through and joined a group of midgets. (They were all quite open to the possibility that the midgets were another people unknown to them, but until they knew for sure that was what they were calling the four tiny people.) As they travelled, the masked man disappeared like he did occasionally in his travels with the dark man. The others continued on their way, seemingly unperturbed. However, when they reached an old ruin on a hill they noticed strange flashes and stuff away to the south. This seemed to greatly concern them, and when the flashes stopped the dark man dropped to his knees wracked with grief. That was the last dream he'd had.

Perhaps the strangest thing about the dreams was that there was no sound; Peter could see mouths move as people talked, but he couldn't hear a thing. They were all really concerned about these dreams, but couldn't figure out what they had to do with anything, and why Peter was having them.

They all sat silently after Susan spoke, and she began to wish she hadn't. Suddenly Edmund chuckled.

"If only they knew who they were being jerks to." He said with a grin. "And that if they were in _you know where_ he could easily have their heads."

All four siblings laughed. Trust Ed to break up the solemn mood.

_What would we do without him?_

Susan glanced about and something caught her eye. Well, not something. Some_one_.

"Oh no…" She murmured, the turned to the others. "Pretend you're talking to me." She ordered.

"We _are_ talking to you." Edmund sassed with a cheeky smile. His sister just sighed.

"OW!" Lucy hollered suddenly, jumping up. Susan glanced apprehensively toward the geeky boy from earlier, who was coming their way. Fortunately he hadn't spotted them yet…

"Quiet, Lu." She hissed.

"Something pinched me!" Her little sister cried, almost as loudly as she had before.

Peter leapt up suddenly, "Hey, would you stop pulling!" He said, glaring at Edmund.

"I'm not touching you!" His brother replied, confused, and jumped up as well.

"Would all of you just –" Susan began, but was interrupted by a sharp pain in her back and another in her arm. "What is that?" She questioned, the boy forgotten again in the face of this new problem.

"It feels like magic!" Lucy beamed excitedly.

_Magic…_

"Quick, everyone hold hands." Susan ordered. That way they couldn't be separated. You never knew what might happen with magic.

"I'm not holding your hand!" Edmund hollered at Peter.

_Brothers…! Must they always be so difficult?_

"Oh, just–!" Peter yelled back, finally securing his brother's hand.

They stood in wonder, watching as the wind that had started whipping by stripped posters and tiles off the walls, broke light fixtures above them, and blew anything in its path past them and away. A train was rushing past, and in between the cars they could see glimpses of a beautiful white beach again a background of green forest. Oddly enough, none of the people around them seemed to notice anything. The train kept going, rushing out of their view, leaving behind nothing of the station they had been standing in.

They were in a cave. From its mouth came bright sunlight, and the sound of waves crashing on sand. Peter was the first to make a move, leading his siblings out. As they came into the sunlight they were temporarily blinded, but then they were able to make out the beach and surf, and the forest on the hill beyond. Lucy turned to Susan with a grin, and then took off running toward the water, shedding her shoes, tie, and cardigan as she went. Her siblings followed.

_We're back!_

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The company lay on the rocks outside Moria, weeping for their lost friend. Gandalf had fallen in battle with the balrog in the dark tunnels of the dwarvish fortress.

_If only he had been able to fight the thing above ground!_ Aragorn yelled in his mind. _I could have called Ad; with her power over fire I'm sure she would have been able to do something._

He bowed his head in sorrow. There was no wind in the caves; he had been able to do nothing.

But there was no time for grieving now. He had to take charge; he was left as the leader now that Gandalf was gone. And they had to get moving, they weren't safe yet.

"Legolas, get them up."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir yelled at him, supporting a bawling Gimli.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Aragorn replied, raising his voice slightly. "We must make for the woods of Lothlorien. Come Legolas, Boromir, Gimli, get them up."

They all moved to do as they were told, choking their grief back and helping the hobbits to their feet.

When they were all ready to move, they turned to Aragorn expecting him to lead them on. To their surprise, however, he was standing with his back to them, head up, staring at the sky. As a soft breeze stirred his shoulder length hair, he began to sing.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Adara whirled her blade; killing the last of the wargs she had been fighting. Although she was fine on her own, she sorely missed the company of her brother. As she cleaned her blade and tended to the gash one of the creatures had given her, she suddenly paused, tense and alert.

A soft wind floated around her, carrying a voice, faint and distant. She instantly knew that is was Aragorn, since the words were in the tongue of Amator. Adara had taught him these words, though he had no idea what they meant, so that he could call to her if/when they were separated.

["Daughter of Anil, hear the cry of your friend. The need is great, hasten and come to my aid. Amator of Astî, hear my call – fly to me on the wings of the wind!"]

Adara leapt to her feet, sheathing her sword. Her brother called, and she would answer. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to do something she had never done before, praying that Aslan would help her use her power over wind to do this.

She directed the winds to blow swiftly to wherever Aragorn was. As the wind picked up, she closed her eyes, and took air-form. Instantly she was airborne, carried by the wind. Daring to open her eyes, she watched in awe as the landscape below her passed so quickly her eyes didn't have time to focus on any one thing before it passed out of her vision. She looked ahead and saw the mountains drawing near.

_Well, this is handy! If only I could put others in air-form, I could get Frodo and the Ring to Mount Doom in about three minutes, and our problem would be solved!_

The wind carried her over Cahadras, and swooped her down to where her brother stood. At the last second before it would have slammed her into the ground, she caused it to drop. Then she resumed human-form.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The company stared at Aragorn as he finished his song. He did not move, still staring into the sky. They all wondered what he had been saying – none of them could understand the language he had used.

Suddenly, the soft breeze picked up. It became a strong wind, whipping over the mountain and down, swirling around the Ranger. Still he did not move. A few minutes later the wind dropped as suddenly as it had begun, and then Hiljar was standing before them, dressed in her usual cloak and mask.

"You called, brother?" She said quietly.

Aragorn turned his face from the sky, seeming surprised and yet unsurprised that she was there.

"How did you come?" He asked her, just as quietly.

"On the wings of the wind. I should have tried that sooner; it is a wonderful way to travel. But what is wrong?" Her keen eyes swept the group, and suddenly she frowned. "Where is the wizard?"

"He fell." Aragorn answered simply.

Hiljar closed her eyes. "I see." Opening them again, she took two swift steps forward and drew Aragorn into a gentle hug, much to the surprise of the fellowship. It only lasted a moment, but they could all tell that Aragorn was much calmer afterward.

"So now you must lead them." She said softly.

"And you must help me, sister." He added in the same tone.

Her eyes widened. "El…"

{"Ad, we have worked together for two years. I cannot lead them alone."}

Only Legolas knew what had been said, none of the others spoke elvish. Hiljar sighed softly.

{"You know I will always help you."}

{"Thank you."}

{"But I must warn you, El. Aslan said that I will go back to Astî soon. I do not know when, or for how long, or even if he will ever bring me back to Arda."}

An odd look crossed Aragorn's face. {"Surely you will return… We need you."} His voice was almost pleading.

{"I do not know. If it is the will of the Lion, I will return. But if not…"}

Aragorn closed his eyes briefly. {"Let us not talk of this now. It will be how it will be, and no amount of talk will change it."}

Hiljar nodded, and turned to the others. Seeing that Pippin still had tears streaming down his face she went and knelt down by his side, taking him in her arms. He sobbed into her shoulder.

"Shh… There Pip." She murmured. "All is not as lost as it seems." She gently lifted him up, carrying him as the group started away from the mountain. Then, very softly, she began to sing.

It was a song that Adara would sing to soothe Lucy when she was afraid of a storm, Edmund when he woke with nightmares of the witch, Susan when she was depressed or annoyed with her brothers, and Peter when he felt he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Just a gentle song that her mother used to sing to help her go to sleep. Adara had always loved it – even more so after she and Peter became nukar. It was about two nukar, long ago. One of the girls had died and the other supposedly wrote the song before her own death. In it she mourned for her nuka and commemorated the time they had been together.

Even though she knew he would not understand, she sang it in Amatorin.

["When the sea falls from the shore – As the light sinks low, will I see you any more – As the rain falls from the sky – Can it bring you back, from a distant lullaby?

["Show me your vision, the story begun – Two lights are rising and burning as one…

["In the deep blue of the night – Shine the millions of stars and my spirit burning bright – Spinning on, into the sun, flying higher – Now my journey's begun!

["And the cold, cold wind, it blows me away – The feeling all over is a black, black day – But I know that I'll see you again – And I know that you're near me…

["There's a star, calling my name – Its echo is true and the song is not the same – Take my hand and lead me away – Bring me back to you, in your arms I'm going to stay.

["Tell me your vision, the story begun – Two lights are rising and burning as one…

["All those years drifting in space – I have known you well, yet I've never seen your face – You turn around, looking at me, laughter in your eyes – And now I can see!

["And the cold, cold wind, it blows me away – The feeling all over is a black, black day – But I know that I'll see you again – And I know that you're near me…"]

The song of love for and loss of a friend seemed appropriate now, as they all grieved. The others were all staring at her in wonder, except Aragorn, who had heard her sing before, and Pippin, whose face was still buried in her shoulder although his sobs had finally stopped. Maybe Aragorn was right when he said that she had a good voice. She wasn't even in Amator form. After a while she set Pippin down, and he walked beside her as they carried on.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Adara gently played with Frodo's hair, running her hand through his curls over and over until he fell asleep. He was the last of the hobbits to do so; she had sung the other three to sleep but he had a lot on his mind and required a little more soothing. When his breathing slowed and deepened she stopped her humming and slipped out to where the 'bigger' members of the company (Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, and Gimli) were seated around their fire.

They had reached Lothlorien safely and met with Galadriel and Celeborn – Lord and Lady of Lothlorien – and were now in the quarters provided for them.

"You have a talent for soothing and comforting those around you." Boromir spoke softly, not wanting to wake the hobbits.

Adara smiled. "I am Amator. Those not of our race have often said such things of us. But I thank you, Boromir."

They sat in silence for a while. Aragorn finally broke it.

"Where were you, when I called?"

"Near the place where you saved me in the wilds. About halfway between Bree and the mountains."

"What took you there?"

"Warg pack. They attacked an outlying settlement a week ago, I tracked them from there."

"Orcs?"

"No, the Wargs were working on their own."

Aragorn hummed softly for a moment – another thing he had picked up from Adara – and nodded. "Good."

Evidently the Captain was satisfied with the report of his Ranger. They fell into silence again. After a moment Boromir asked, "Listen. What is that?"

The two humans could just barely hear something through the woods. Legolas – since elves have better hearing – could tell that the sound was made up of voices. Adara – with better hearing than any of them, could make out individual voices.

They were crying things like "Liar!" "Thief!" and "Barbarian!" To her shock, she was able to her the distinct ringing tones of centaurs, the higher voices of fauns, the low gravely voices of dwarves, and even the hollow boom of a giant.

"What in the world…" She whispered, staring into the forest where the noise was coming from. She could almost see a fire, just on the edge of her vision.

"What is it, Ad?" Aragorn asked softly. "What do you hear?"

Adara was listening intently. "Some sort of council. It sounds like…" She trailed off. "Astîans." She whispered.

Suddenly she was on her feet. Straining forward into the darkness, but not actually leaving the light of the fire. Restrained by the fear that if she followed the sound and light, she would leave Arda – never to return.

But – how could she not go? She had made a promise, both to Astî and herself, that she would return to her people. And if Peter was there… How she missed her nuka! How she longed to see him again – just once!

Aragorn saw the battle in her mind, saw her longing and her fear. "Go."

He met Adara's eyes calmly, despite his own inner battle, unaware of the astonishment of the other three at the fire.

"Go. Go to your people, go to your family, go to your brother. If you never return, sister, know that my heart is with you. As is my blessing. Go."

She gave him a half-smile and murmured, "Goodbye, brother. I pray Aslan will allow us to meet again." With that she was gone, silently running towards Astî. As she disappeared, so did the distant light and noise. Aragorn took a shuddering breath. His sister had just left Arda, possibly for good.

**So - that happened. Don't worry. She'll be back. I decided to be nice and not draw the suspense out this time, after what I pulled with her apparent death.**

**Anyway. What did you guys think of Susan's POV? Good, bad? Ready to lynch me yet? All these tantalizing little hints about what's going on in the big picture... :) What do you think of Peter's dreams?**

**Also, I hate how the movies paint Peter as a total git. That's NOT what the books said, AT ALL. The only one being a git in the books was Susan. I will write Peter the way he is SUPPOSED to be. That means that - while they all would have had trouble adjusting to England again - Peter knows better than to start fistfights over nonsense. Now, if one of those guys had insulted one of his sisters, he would have jumped in swinging. That's the kind of honor system Narnia had. But he would NOT start throwing punches because some idiots were having a bad day and did something moronic. Just... no. Honestly, it really bugs me when people paint the High King as this idiot with the maturity level of a two-year-old and have him throwing tantrums every other moment. So there's my little tirade. I'll just shut up now...**


	13. Chapter 13

**Another chapter up! We're progressing through this story a lot faster than I anticipated. Hope you enjoy!**

"All this horn proves is that they've stolen yet another thing from us." A black dwarf spat, pointing at a young man standing by the fire who was holding…

_Susan's horn! Did he blow it? Is that how Aslan brought me back, by the horn's call?_

"I didn't steal anything." The man protested, angry – but cautious. After all, there was a mob of angry Astîans around him, all shouting and yelling. Adara smiled at his courage.

"Didn't steal anything? Shall we list the things the Telmarines have stolen?" A Minotaur bellowed.

_Ok… Last I knew they were the bad guys. Have they switched sides? Wait what did he say? Telmarines? What's going on?_

"Our homes!"

"Our freedom!"

"Our lives!"

"You stole Narnia!"

_They must have invaded after we were gone._ Adara realized. The thought sent pain shooting straight to her heart – she had left Astî defenseless when she went to Arda.

"You would hold me accountable for all the crimes of my people?" The man asked, trying to reason with the angry Astîans.

"Accountable." Sneered a black dwarf, "And punishable."

Adara frowned. This was not the Astî she knew and loved. What had happened to the people? Why were they so dark and bitter? They had lived through the Witch's reign, and still been the innocent, loving people they started out as. Why had they changed now?

"HA! That is rich coming from _you_ dwarf. Or have you forgotten that it was _your_ people that ought alongside the White Witch?" A mouse yelled at the dwarf, waving its tiny sword in the air.

"And I'd gladly do it again, if it would rid us of these _barbarians_!" The dwarf yelled back.

Adara gasped. Ok, that was _it_. Being angry at and even hating the Telmarine race, she could understand. But that comment about the Witch was the absolute limit. Before she could speak up in outrage, however, someone else did.

"Then we are lucky it is not in your power to bring her back." A badger said calmly, but with an undertone of anger in its voice. "Or are you suggesting we ask this boy to go against Aslan now?"

_Finally! A sane Astîan!_

"Some of you may have forgotten but we badgers remember well, that Narnia has never been right – except when a Son of Adam was king."

"He's a Telmarine!" The dwarf practically screamed. Why would we want him as our king?"

"Because I can help you!" The man cried. "Beyond these woods, I am a prince. The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine. Help me claim it and I can bring peace between us."

_Well, that explains a lot._

"It is true. The time is ripe. I watch the skies, for they are mine to watch, as it is yours to remember badger. Tarva, the lord of victory, and Alambil, the lady of peace, have met together in the high heaven, and now here on earth a son of Adam has come forth to offer us back our freedom." The centaur that spoke paced majestically around the edge of the firelight, and leveled an even, calculating gaze on the man by the fire.

"Is it possible?" A squirrel in the branches above the centaur's head questioned, looking at the man as well. "Do you really think there could be peace? Do you, I mean, I mean, really?"

Adara smiled fondly at the animal, although it couldn't see her (she had taken shadow-form long before she got to the fire). She loved the squirrels; their vibrant energy always reminded her of Lucy.

"Two days ago, I didn't believe in the existence of talking animals, or dwarves, or centaurs. But here you are, in strength and numbers that we Telmarines could never have imagined. Whether this horn is magic or not, it brought us together. And together we have a chance to take back what is ours!" He said, lifting the horn and staring fiercely at the centaur. Adara guessed the centaur was probably the main leader of the Astîans, by example if nothing else. If the man could convince him (and he looked pretty convinced) the other Astîans were likely to accept him as well.

"If you will lead us, then my sons and I offer you our swords." The centaur said grimly, drawing his blade in a salute. Astîans all around agreed with their leader as he signed over his authority to the man before them, drawing their blades in salute as well.

"And we offer you our lives, unreservedly." The little mouse from before said gallantly, giving a flourishing bow.

"If we are to succeed we must hurry to find soldiers and weapons." The man said determinedly, turning in a circle to sweep the entire assembly with a look. Fixing his gaze on the centaur he said in a low voice, "I am sure they will be here soon."

Adara caught the last words, but wasn't really paying attention. That sword… She had only seen it briefly as the man turned, but she was almost certain. Shifting shadows so that she stood almost right beside the man, she took a closer look at the hilt and sheath of the sword he bore, and stifled a gasp.

_Basil!_

The man glanced her way, slightly confused for a moment, but seemed to shrug it off. Adara looked down at Lorcán, hanging by her side. She had told Aragorn when he bought her the sword that it was the twin of her Astîan blade, and she was right. They were nearly identical.

She tuned back into what was going on in time to hear the badger say something about relocating to Aslan's How.

_Aslan's How? What on Rikku is that?_

However, Adara had other things to worry about. For example: when and how should she show herself to her people? She guessed that the Telmarine prince had blown the horn. Where had he gotten that, she would like to know. And now they were waiting for the Kings and Queens of old to return, hence his words about them 'being here soon'. Well one of them _was_ here… And wanted her sword back, thank-you-very-much. Adara decided to make her grand entrance.

First she moved away from the man, so that he wouldn't die of a heart attack from someone appearing right at his elbow. She took off her cloak and mask, to seem less suspicious. Then, Adara took human-form. As she did so, she whispered a call to the wind, and it brought her crown to her (her actual crown, not the gold circlet she'd worn at the council of the Ring), setting it on her head so that it became visible as she did.

"Before anyone goes anywhere, I would like two questions answered, and I would like the Prince to give me my sword." She said calmly.

Instantly every one there was focused completely on her.

_Good thing I'm used to pressure! Never thought those diplomatic visits to Calormen would actually be beneficial…_

"Who are you and where did you come from!" The black dwarf shouted angrily. Adara gave him a withering glare.

"You may ask me again when you decide to be a little more respectful." She responded coldly, in her best 'ice queen' voice. It was one of Susan's little tricks that Adara had picked up from the younger girl.

The badger was staring at her hopefully, and now came over to feet with a little bow. "Princess Amala?" He asked softly, in his deep badger voice.

She knelt and put her arms around him. "Of all Astîans," She said softly, "I might have known the badgers would remember." She gently stroked his furry head and stood again, smiling down at him.

Then she faced the man. "My sword, if you please?" She asked with a bright smile, holding her hand out. "I have missed Basil. Lorcán is his twin, but not his replacement."

The man glanced uncertainly to the centaur, and the badger stepped forward.

"Give it to her, my prince." He said quietly. "This is Amala, Warrior Princess of Narnia."

Although he was clearly still uncertain, the man unhooked Basil's sheath from his sword belt and was about to hand it to her when a cry from the black dwarf stopped him.

"Are you mad? Do not hand over that precious blade to this wench!"

And then Adara snapped. She whirled on the dwarf, taking first-form as she did so.

"Be silent, dwarf!" She hissed in second-form voice. "I am Meital of the Amator, Adara of Astî, Hiljar of the Rangers, Phantom of Arda – Princess Amala the Compassionate of Narnia, blood sister of High King Peter the Magnificent. I have not passed through great trials, even death, and returned to you now to be treated in such fashion by my own people!"

She strode forward and took the Basil from the man, hooking the sheath onto her own sword belt. With one last Amator glare at the dwarf, she resumed human-form. Her voice once again soft and smooth she said tranquilly to the badger and the prince, "I believe I said that I had some questions I wanted answered?"

"You did, your majesty." The badger replied. The man just stared at her, completely taken aback by the change in her voice.

"And you will answer them?" She asked, directing her question solely to the Telmarine this time.

He recovered and said quickly, "Yes… your majesty."

_That title is going to have to go._ She mused. Adara wasn't a big fan of titles.

_Oh well, not now. That will only undermine my authority in the eyes of any doubters. I'll worry about that later._

"Good." She said simply. "First, I would like to know your name, Prince of Telmar."

"I am Caspian, the tenth."

"The _tenth_?" She questioned, pain in her voice. "How long… How long has it been since Aslan took me away from Astî?"

"It has been nearly thirteen hundred years since our kings and queens abandoned us." The black dwarf sneered. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and muttered softly enough that only the badger and Caspian could hear.

"Just ignore him… I'll just ignore him – I can deal with him later, or maybe get Peter to do it when he gets here. Now's not the time."

Then she opened her eyes again and fixed her sorrowful gaze on the badger asking, with the same pain in her voice as they'd heard in it a moment ago, "Has it really been so long?"

He nodded soberly. "Yes, your majesty."

She closed her eyes again and said softly in a choked voice, "And for that I am sorry. Two years… Only two years have passed in Arda. Oh, Aslan knows how hard I tried to come back. Aragorn could testify to the many nights I spent awake, pleading with the Lion to let me return. Thirteen hundred years… Why wouldn't he let me return to you?" To the surprise of everyone present, several tears ran down her cheeks.

As she stopped speaking there was complete silence. She wiped the tears from her face and asked, a little more loudly, "And what has happened in that time? The Telmarines invaded, that much is clear. Narnians were often considered 'freaks' by the nations around simply because they have never been solely human. Such nonsense!" Adara snorted. "So the Telmarines have driven this people into the woods and the wilds, correct? Hunted you like common, dumb beasts, and tried to kill you off altogether." She met Caspian's eyes. "I am right, am I not?"

He nodded. "I am afraid so."

"Your people have a tendency to violence, even from their beginning. Nay – I do not fault _you_ for it. This people –" She gestured to the Astîans around them, "– has a tendency to stubbornness and disbelief. Each people has their main fault to which they are prone. You have chosen a different path than your ancestors – it is enough."

He bowed his head slightly, thanking her.

"But why have you chosen to side with ancient Astî? Forgive me – I always forget and call this land by the name my ancestors gave it. Why have you chosen to side with ancient Narnia?"

He then explained how his tutor had taught him about Narnia, the _real_ Narnia –not the Narnia that the Telmarines had created – and about Aslan. The teachings of this Dr. Cornelius had shown him what was right and wrong. When he finished, Adara hummed in approval.

Smiling, she said, "I should like to meet this tutor of yours. He sounds like an excellent person, whether he is Narnian or no. I have one final question… How long ago was the horn blown?"

"Little more than a day." He responded.

Adara hummed again, this time thoughtfully. Then she closed her eyes and relaxed. For the first time in years, she willingly focused on her heart and her connection to Peter. The pain she felt in doing so was tiny and insignificant compared to what it had been in Arda. She opened her eyes again, beaming.

"He is in Astî, he is coming. As quickly as ever he can, he is coming!" She half-sang, completely confusing everyone but the badger and the centaur.

"Who is coming?" The black dwarf snarled.

Facing him with a smile – Adara couldn't help but smile, Peter was coming! – she replied happily, "My brother! The High King is in Narnia, and coming to find me. He will be here soon; Peter is not one to delay. My brother, my nuka, he is coming to help us!"

That was when the assembly remembered the tales that told of the blood link between Princess Amala and High King Peter.

"The tales are true then?" The squirrel she had seen earlier asked breathlessly (no more so than usual however, squirrels always sound slightly out of breath).

"If the tales say that the High King and I are nukar, the tales are true." She answered with a smile, and then finally sobered. "But it matters little at the moment… I believe you were saying something about relocating to 'Aslan's How' when I interrupted?" She asked the badger.

He nodded, and it was soon agreed that they would, indeed, set up their camp at the How, which the badger explained was a great mound full of passages that had been erected over the Stone Table to protect it, not long after the invasion.

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"I wonder who lived here." Lucy said suddenly, as she and her siblings wandered through the ruins they had found above the beach. They were all terribly worried, not knowing what had happened in their absence but fearing it was something terrible.

At that moment, Susan stepped on something in the grass and bent to pick it up. Recognition crossed her face as she looked at it, and she murmured, her voice heavy with disbelief, "I think we did…"

"What?" Lucy asked, scrunching up her face in confusion. Their brother came over in time to hear Susan, and Edmund looked at the thing in her hand.

"Hey, that's mine! From my chess set!"

"Which chess set?" Peter asked, densely.

"Well, I didn't exactly have a solid gold chess set in Finchley, did I?" His brother asked sarcastically, but without his usual grin, shooting Peter a look.

_Oh – right, stupid question._

"It can't be…" Lucy whispered, before running off toward an open space.

"Lucy!" They all called after her. She had always been the impetuous one, the wanderer.

_Ara was a wanderer too…_

"Don't you see!" Lucy said excitedly, jolting Peter out of his thoughts and pain by grabbing his arm.

"See what?" He really hadn't been paying attention – he was too worried about his nuka.

"Imagine walls. And columns there – and a glass roof!" She said, maneuvering each of her siblings into position in front of where their throne should have been.

"Cair Paravel." Peter said softly, staring out at what used to be the grand hall/throne room of his beautiful palace. Now all that remained were broken stones choked with long grass.

The siblings shared a sorrowful glance and went back to wandering, this time less aimlessly since they each knew, now, exactly where they were and where they were going.

Half an hour later, they all met in one place. Edmund knelt down to examine a piece of smashed rock.

"Catapults." He murmured, catching the attention of his siblings.

"What?" Peter asked, hoping he had heard wrong.

"This didn't just happen… Cair Paravel was attacked." Edmund said seriously, looking up to meet his brother's eyes. He stood, and then as one they turned to the wall nearby. That wall was the reason they had all come to this spot in the first place – or rather; the reason was what lay behind that wall. The two men (they were English boys no longer, now they were once more men – kings concerned about and ready to protect their country) strained against the wall, pushing a section of it aside to reveal a hidden door. It was mostly rotten, and fairly easy to break down. Peter then tore a strip of cloth off of his school uniform and began to fashion a makeshift torch.

"I don't suppose… You've any matches, do you?" He asked, looking to his little brother. Edmund was always the one to ask; he carried all sorts of random things, and was the most likely to have what you were looking for at any given time.

"No, but…" Edmund rummaged in his bag. "Would this help?" He asked with a grin, pulling out his new flashlight.

"You might have mentioned that a bit sooner!" Peter replied, pretending to be angry, but he was betrayed by his grin. Edmund turned on the light and started down the steps. Peter tossed his scrap of cloth aside, and motioned for the girls to follow their brother.

When the group reached the bottom of the stairs they stepped aside, allowing Peter, as High King, to open the metal gates at that led into the treasury. They were always like this; even in England they treated each other with the same deference as they would in Narnia.

"I can't believe it, it's all still here!" Peter said as they walked in, astonished that the room had escaped the notice of whoever had attacked their beloved castle. They each made their way to their own chest, where certain things of theirs would be set aside.

There would be clothes and armor in those chests, and their gifts from Father Christmas, as well as different valuable articles of sentimental value.

"I was so tall!" Lucy exclaimed, holding up one of her dresses from before.

"Well, you were older then." Susan answered with a smile, always the logical one.

"As opposed to hundreds of years later, when you are younger." Edmund said. Always the smart one, the sarcastic one.

Susan was digging through her chest with an odd look.

"What is it?" Lucy asked.

"My horn!" Her sister responded. "I must have left it on my saddle, the day we went back."

Taking Rhindon out of his chest, Peter drew it from its sheath. "When Aslan bares his teeth, winter meets it death." He said quietly, reading the words engraved on the blade.

"When he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again." Lucy said, her voice soft and sorrowful. "Everyone we knew," she whispered, "Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers – they're all gone."

Peter shared a look with his brother. "I think it's time we found out what's going on here."

They each selected a suitable outfit from their trunk, the brothers including some armor, and gathered up what weapons they would take. One way or another they were going to get off this island. That was another thing that had changed; Cair Paravel used to be on a peninsula – now it was on an island, cut off from the mainland by a narrow channel of water.

When they had changed into Narnian clothes they felt much better, and they were ready to start off. They headed down to the beach, to figure out how to get to the mainland.

"Maybe it's not quite an island." Lucy suggested. "If we go up the beach, mightn't it connect to the mainland? Or mightn't the channel at least get narrower and be easier to cross?"

"It's possible." Peter decided. "We might as well try. Come on."

As the walked up the beach, Edmund said suddenly, "There's a boat there, on the water!"

At that they all ran forward, only to see the men in the boat stand up, pick up a dwarf – bound and gagged – and prepare to throw him in the river. They were going to drown him!

They ran faster, Susan outdistancing the others. She was the fastest runner by far, and the men were weighed down by their armor. The moment she was close enough Susan nocked an arrow and shot it, hitting the side of the boat to get their attention. She shouted, "Drop him!"

_Maybe not the best choice of words…_

The men glanced at each other and heaved the dwarf over the side. Instantly Peter and Edmund were in motion again, dropping their sword belts as they ran. Susan and Lucy ran forward as well, stopping by the edge of the water, and Susan shot another arrow. This time she actually shot one of the men, though not fatally. They all hated killing and only did it when absolutely necessary. Both men jumped out of the boat, floundering through the water to the mainland, where they disappeared in the woods.

Edmund headed for the boat and pulled it to the shore while Peter dove underwater to find the drowning dwarf. A minute later he carried him onto the beach and set him down gently on the sand.

Lucy dropped to her knees beside her subject, drawing her dagger and cutting the bonds on his wrists. Instantly he pulled his gag off and spat out seawater. He climbed shakily to his feet, and glared at Susan.

"Drop him! That's the best you could come up with?" He said in a tone of disgust.

All four monarchs were taken aback. This was not right! Why did he speak to them that way? Even though he might not recognize them as the kings and queens (they had no idea how long they'd been gone, after all, so they had to assume that no one would know them at first) he should be thanking them with a grateful smile, and maybe teasing Susan about her word choice. Not shouting at them. What had happened to their Narnia?

"A-a simple thank you would suffice." Susan stuttered slightly in disbelief.

"They were doing fine drowning me without your help." He growled, pointing at her.

"Maybe we should have let them!" Peter snapped. Perhaps his words would help the dwarf realize how rude he was being. And _no one_ spoke to one of _his_ sisters in that tone of voice.

"Why were they trying to kill you anyway?" Lucy asked curiously, hoping to diffuse the tension and redirect Peter's anger to the two men who had been in the boat. Her brother was dangerous when defending his family, and she thought it would be more profitable to direct his anger somewhere other than the poor dwarf.

"They're Telmarines. That's what they do." The dwarf muttered, shaking water out of his beard.

"Telmarines! In Narnia?" Edmund asked, astonished.

"Where have you been for the last few hundred years?" The dwarf asked, though it was toned more like a statement.

"It's a bit of a long story." Lucy said softly, taking his question seriously.

Then Susan remembered that she had picked up Peter's sword, and handed it back to him. He took it with a quiet word of thanks, his gaze lingering fondly on the hilt, which was made of gold and had a lion's head shaped on the end. He glanced up in time to see the dwarf staring at it, and his gaze became… less than fond.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!' The dwarf said, dragging out the words in disbelief. "You're it? You're the kings and queens of old?"

"High King Peter, the Magnificent." Peter said his full title, extending his hand.

"You probably could have left off the last part." Susan teased him with a smile, which he returned.

"Probably." The dwarf chuckled.

Peter raised an eyebrow and said, "You might be surprised." He drew his sword. This dwarf clearly didn't believe they were who they said they were. Well, they could prove it.

"Oh, you don't want to do that, boy." The dwarf said slowly, staring at the famous blade.

Peter grinned. "Not me. Him." He nodded at his brother. "Ed?"

Edmund grinned and drew his own sword. Peter gave him a look that clearly said, "I know you've got this, don't let me down."

Edmund just gave him another grin.

Peter was a magnificent swordsman, one of the best in all Rikku. Edmund however, was better even than he was. He was considered the absolute best in the entire world. This dwarf really didn't stand a chance, as long as Edmund was still on his game.

Peter handed Rhindon to the dwarf. He took it, and immediately the point buried itself in the sand. It was too heavy for the small man. Or so it seemed.

Both kings were watching with a practiced eye, and they could tell that he was faking. Edmund, however, was a good actor. He pretended to let his guard down, glancing toward his siblings. As he expected, the dwarf struck.

Before the blade even neared him, Edmund was out of the way. The dwarf actually engaged him then, seeing that he was too good a swordsman to be tricked by something so simple. In a matter of moments, Rhindon was flying through the air. The dwarf sank to the ground, staring at the man who had disarmed him.

"Beard and bedsteads! Maybe that horn worked after all!"

All four shared a look. "What horn?" Susan asked.

There was a moment of silence before the dwarf answered. "Your horn… your majesty."

"_My_ horn?" She asked, her voice scaling incredulously.

"Yes. A Telmarine blew it, not even a whole day ago. He was being chased by his own kin, and fell off his horse right outside my house. I didn't get to see his face for long, I was captured by his friends, but I think that it was Prince Caspian."

"Prince Caspian?"

"The Telmarine prince. His father died years ago, and his uncle – who calls himself Lord Protector – rules now as if he were the king. His wife was pregnant; she must have had a son. That is my guess, as it would explain why the prince was running, and being chased. Anyone with an eye can see that Miraz wants the throne. I expect the prince only lived this long because his uncle did not have an heir."

"I see." Peter said slowly, thinking furiously. "This prince must have some faith in Aslan then, to blow the horn?"

"Well, I don't know about that."

"But why else would he blow it?" Edmund asked. "It would only draw attention, after all. He would have to believe that it could, indeed, summon help."

The dwarf was still skeptical, but the others agreed with Edmund.

"Then we ought to find him." Susan said. "Narnia has been enslaved long enough. That must be why Aslan sent us back, so we could help Narnia throw off her chains, and Prince Caspian reclaim his throne."

"Where was he, when you were captured?" Peter asked. "Was he captured as well?"

"No." The dwarf replied. "My friends saw to that. The soldiers didn't know where he was, and didn't know there were more of us. Nikabrik and Trufflehunter would have gotten him safely hidden."

"So… Where would we find them, your friends and the prince?" Lucy asked.

"They were in the Shuddering Wood. I expect you know where that is?"

"Unless there has been a major earthquake that rearranged the entire face of Narnia, yes." Edmund said with his signature grin.

_Trust Ed to lighten the situation._

"Then what are we waiting for?" Peter asked. "I'm going to guess that the Telmarines hate Narnians and have driven them into the wild places. Why should we stand here idle while our people are so mistreated?"

"Hold on, we've got to be practical." Susan said. "I know where the wood is, but does anyone know how to get there from here?"

"If we go up the Great River –" Edmund began, but the dwarf cut him off.

"No good. We'll have to go by land. They've got outposts all along the river."

Edmund thought a moment, and then turned to his brother. "Peter? You always were best at this sort of thing…"

The High King closed his eyes, laying out a rough map of Narnia in his head.

"Do they have outposts on Glasswater Creek?"

"Not that I'm aware of – they tend to stay away from the woods. Glasswater goes right through the forest."

"Then if we go up Glasswater, we can cut across to the river Rush. The Shuddering Wood is just on the other side of the river."

The dwarf seemed doubtful. "Crossing the Rush won't be easy. I don't think the old crossings are any good now."

"Likely not." Peter agreed. "But I can't think of any other route that's not going to lead us across open areas where there are sure to be outposts."

"Seems like our best bet then." Edmund agreed.

"We've got to try, at least." Lucy added.

Reluctantly the dwarf agreed. They all climbing into the boat; with Peter rowing and Edmund steering, they started off. The mouth of Glasswater Creek wasn't far south, and soon they were rowing up the stream. As they went, they found out the dwarf's name – Trumpkin.

"They're so still." Lucy said softly, staring up at the trees along the banks of the creek.

"They're trees. What did you expect?" Trumpkin muttered.

"They used to dance." She replied, sadly.

"Wasn't long after you lot left that the Telmarines invaded. Those who survived retreated to the woods, and the trees? They retreated so deep within themselves that they haven't been heard from since."

Peter drew a sharp breath. Trumpkin's words stung him, and he couldn't help but feel that he had failed his people – even though it wasn't his fault they had gone back to England. "We didn't mean to leave, you know." He said, his voice slightly choked.

Susan gave him a sympathetic glance. As High King, he was taking this worse than anyone but Lucy. His sister could tell that it was tearing him up inside.

"Makes no difference now, does it." Trumpkin replied glumly.

Peter straightened slightly, with new resolve. "Get us to the Narnians, and it will."

**What did you guys think of the scene where they meet Trumpkin? I feel like Trumpkin's not quite right - any tips on how to make him sound more authentic?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Wow, the last chapter got a lot of reviews! Thanks so much, guys!**

Legolas watched Hiljar disappear into the night. He heard the pain-filled breath that Aragorn drew. He saw the light from the distant fire fade away to nothing.

"What just happened?" Boromir asked softly.

Aragorn stood abruptly and left the fire. Legolas's sharp elf eyes saw the pain in his friend's face.

"Leave him be." He said quietly, when Boromir would have pressed the matter. "It matters not at this moment. Aragorn told her to go, so you can be sure that it was right for her to do so. But he loved her as a sister, and she is gone. Do not test his pain. He will explain when he is ready."

Aragorn cast a thankful look over his shoulder at the elf. Then he was gone, back to the pavilion.

The three remaining at the fire gazed into the flames, each engrossed in his own thoughts.

"What are Astîans?" Gimli asked suddenly, remembering what Hiljar had said.

"How should I know?" Boromir retorted. "We are every bit as confused as you are. Hiljar has disappeared somewhere, perhaps never to return. Aragorn is grieving. And here we sit, trying to make sense of it."

"Astîans are the inhabitants of Astî." Legolas said softly.

"What?" Gimli asked.

"Do you know what that was all about then?" Boromir asked incredulously.

"No. But I remember something that I overheard Lord Elrond saying to Gandalf. Hiljar is from a land called Astî. She left it, and then for some reason has been unable to go back. That is all I heard before I left."

"So some Astîans came to Lothlorien to meet her and take her back?" Gimli asked no one in particular. "And for some reason she may never meet Aragorn again. Well this is a fine riddle!"

"Let us not worry about it." Legolas said again. "Aragorn will tell us when he is able."

"I'm not worried, no, I'm not worried." The dwarf grumbled. "I'm curious. _Very_ curious. 'Go to your people, go to your family, go to your brother.' " He quoted Aragorn. "I thought she said she was the last of her kind!"

"She did." Boromir agreed.

"Then what was that all about?"

"I do not know." Legolas answered softly.

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"I don't remember this way." Susan commented, staring about her at the great rocks they were walking around.

"That's the problem with girls," Peter teased, "Can't carry a map in their heads."

"That's because our heads have something in them!" Lucy replied merrily, grinning at her older brother.

"I think we should have listened to the DLF in the first place." Susan murmured. There had been some disagreement about their path once they left the creek – Trumpkin had wanted to go one way and Peter the other. Edmund sided with Peter, so they were following his path. The girls had wisely decided not to interfere.

"DLF?" Edmund questioned, confused. The girls grinned at each other.

"Dear Little Friend." Lucy said sweetly; it was the nickname the girls had given him after something condescending he had said to Lucy. This was the first any of the others had heard it.

"Oh, well, that's not at all patronizing, is it?" Trumpkin asked sarcastically, glancing up at Edmund beside him. The king just grinned. He guessed where the nickname had come from, and decided not to comment, figuring that Trumpkin did deserve it.

"I'm not lost…" Peter murmured softly, up ahead, trying to remember which way to go. He closed his eyes once more to look at his mental map, but Trumpkin interrupted.

"No. You're just going the wrong way."

"Maybe I am." Peter assented. "But you said yourself that you've never been in these parts. If I can't find the river, you can have a go at leading – but I think I've a better chance at finding it, no matter how Narnia's changed. I've been all over this area hundreds of times. Now hush, I'm trying to find my landmarks."

With that he closed his eyes again. The others waited; his siblings being patient, knowing that Peter had a head for directions – he was always the one to plot routes or whatever – and Trumpkin slightly less patient. He was confident that he was right, was _not_ confident in the abilities of this 'boy-king', and considered this route a total waste of time.

After a minute of deliberation, Peter chose one of the three ways through the rocks that had opened in front of them, and the group continued on. He hoped that he was right; Trumpkin had little enough faith in the four of them already. If he wasn't able to find the river, but the dwarf could… It wouldn't help them any, that was for sure.

A half-hour later, they reach the Rush. While Peter assessed the river and Trumpkin stared at it in disbelief, the other three grinned at each other, glad to see their brother so vindicated. Their grins soon disappeared, however, when they took a look at the river. It lay in a deep gorge, with vertical rock walls. There was no way they could climb down.

"Well, at least we weren't lost." Peter said, cheerfully.

_Now what do we do?_

"Is there any way down?" Edmund asked Trumpkin, like the dwarf should somehow know.

"Yeah. Falling." Was the sarcastic answer. "There's a ford near Beruna. How d'you feel about swimming?"

"Rather that than walking." Susan answered. She never was one for this sort of thing, she preferred to stay at Cair Paravel and handle paperwork problems and visiting dignitaries. None of the others faulted her for this; they each had their preference, and their area of strength.

"Aslan?" Lucy said suddenly. "Aslan! Don't you see? He's right… there." She trailed off as she tried to point her siblings to where she saw the Lion, only to see that he was no longer there.

"Do you see him now?" Trumpkin asked, his tone mocking.

"I'm not crazy." Lucy replied strongly. "He was there, and he wanted us to follow him."

"I'm sure there are any number of lions in this wood…" Peter began uncertainly.

"I think I know Aslan when I see him." Lucy said, giving her brother a look.

_She and Ara were always the closest to him. She wouldn't say he was there if he wasn't._

"Look!" Trumpkin said, clearly exasperated. "I'm not about to jump off a cliff after someone who doesn't exist!"

_He doesn't believe in Aslan?!_

"The last time I didn't believe Lucy, I ended up looking – pretty stupid." Edmund said slowly, silently willing Peter to follow Lucy.

Susan didn't say anything, simply waited for her brother's decision.

"Alright." Peter nodded, and Lucy sighed in relief. "But how can we follow him if we can't see him?" He wasn't mocking her; he was asking a genuine question of the one who knew the Lion best. "Where exactly did you see him?"

Lucy moved away from them, to the edge of the cliff. "It was right over –" She broke off in a scream as the ground beneath her gave way.

"_Lucy!_" Susan cried, as the other four jumped forward to save her, but it was too late. She had already disappeared beneath the level of the cliff. Peter could almost see her lying on the rocks below, gravely injured or even dead.

"–here." Lucy finished her sentence from where she was sitting on the edge of a sort of path down the cliff face. Her siblings all sighed in relief, and so did Trumpkin. One by one they all climbed down to the path.

"Well, I guess that explains how we're supposed to follow him." Peter said with a smile. "Just next time Lu, don't scare me like that ok?" He enveloped his sister in a crushing hug.

"Peter, Peter, Peter, can't breathe!" She yelled, squirming out of his grasp.

He grinned sheepishly, then turned and led the way down. They crossed the Rush – that was easy – and followed the path up the far side of the gorge. By the time they had finally climbed out into the forest once more, they were all exhausted. It was evening anyway, so they decided to set up camp.

"With Aslan's help we'll hopefully find PC tomorrow." Edmund said with a yawn.

"PC? Dare I ask?" Trumpkin muttered, just loud enough for them to hear.

Edmund shrugged. "Prince Caspian takes too long."

"What is with you four and strange nicknames?" Trumpkin asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. They all laughed at him and settled down to sleep, wishing that they had some sort of supper. But there was nothing to be had.

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Caspian came into the Table room, and paused. There was already someone in here, someone who was bowed on the steps before the mural of Aslan. He knew instantly who it was – no one else had hair with streaks in it, many streaks of white and one streak of blue. Princess Amala, who preferred to be called Adara. (The streaks in her hair only showed in first-form, but she had been switching back and forth between first and human forms, since there were pictures of both on the walls of the How. There were also pictures of her in second-form, but no one knew it was her.)

He turned to leave but she said softly, "Caspian."

When he looked back she had risen from the ground and was facing him.

"Forgive me." He said softly. "I did not realize…"

"No, there is nothing to forgive." She responded with a smile. "Come – we have plans to make."

He joined her; seeing that she had laid a map out on the floor near where she had been kneeling.

"Can you mark where there are outposts?" She asked, handing him a quill and inkpot. "And the routes Miraz is most likely to use for his army? It will help us."

Caspian bent over the map, working silently for several minutes. "That is the best I can do." He decided finally.

She inspected his work. "And what do your men tell you of enemy movements?"

"There is a shipment of arms and armor being sent to the worksite at the Ford." He tapped the spot on the map. "It's not well guarded. I had thought to scope it out, and possibly make a raid. They fear the woods already, why not enhance that fear? It would be beneficial to us, I think."

He glanced up, looking for approval. Princess Adara was smiling… proudly?

"Already you do well." She said softly. "You have much to learn, but Aslan chose wisely when he chose you for this work. Yes, it would certainly be in our favor to prey on their fear of the woods. At the very least it could do no harm. What are your plans, then, for the raid?"

"I have not laid solid plans. I wished to speak with you first, and Glenstorm."

She tilted her head slightly. "I have not learned very many names yet. Who is Glenstorm?"

"The leading centaur." He responded.

"Ah. I might have guessed. It is a centaur's name, of course." She fell silent, musing. "Frankly, I am confident planning a raid. It is the sort of thing Rangers do. But anything of larger scope… You need Glenstorm for anything bigger, or my brothers."

"You have referenced these 'Rangers' several times now, Princess. Who are they?"

She made an impatient sound. "_Please_ Caspian. Call me Adara. I do not like titles."

"It feels disrespectful to address you without one."

"We hold the same position, you and I. And you will soon be 'higher' than I am, since you are going to be king. You can call me by my name."

Hesitantly, he agreed.

"To answer your question: _I_ am a Ranger. They are a people of Arda into which I was accepted – wanderers, the guardians of the settled lands. We stray in the paths of the wilds, and hunt the evil things that roam under the stars in dangerous lands. We attack bands of wargs and orcs that wander to close to the lands we protect. It is a lonely life, but a good one. Aragorn, my friend and my brother, is a Ranger. I pray that I may one day return to Arda to help him in his war against darkness."

Caspian asked, confused, "Where is Arda? You said something about it at the council on Dancing Lawn, if I remember correctly, but I do not think anyone knew what you were talking about."

Princess Amala Adara laughed lightly. "Arda is another world. Astî – Narnia, as you know it – is in the world of Rikku."

Caspian simply stared at her.

"Surely you know that the kings and queens are not originally from Astî? They are from the world called Earth. There are many worlds, Caspian. Far more than either of us could imagine."

"I – I – didn't know."

She smiled. "No, I guess not. Most people don't. It is mindboggling, is it not? Somewhere out there, in another universe or perhaps even another dimension, is Arda. And somewhere in Arda a company of eight rests in a small pavilion in a great and beautiful wood."

"And this Aragorn you have spoken of, whom you call brother, he is one of these eight?"

"Yes." Adara paused, looking at the ground. "I am torn. I belong, now, to two separate worlds. Astî and Arda. My people are here, and my family, and yet there I have left a people and family as well." She glanced up and met his eyes. "You are blessed, Caspian. You have far more than you think. To be one, to be whole, is a great blessing most take for granted."

"But were you not torn, then, before ever you left Narnia? It is said that nukar are never whole save by each other's side."

"It is said truly. But… how can I make you understand? You cannot, you are not nukar." Adara sighed softly in frustration, trying to come up with a way to explain herself. Caspian waited patiently.

"Being nukar… is painful at times. When I am apart from my nuka, it is more painful than anything you will ever experience. Although I can distract myself, distancing myself from the pain and shutting it inside, I cannot make it truly leave. But becoming nukar with Peter, it is the best thing that has ever happened to me. We are close, closer than close, we… each understand the other's mind and heart. It is a wonderful thing, something that I wish everyone could have. No, though it can be painful, being nukar does not tear me in the way that you mean."

"Will you tell me more of Arda, Adara? How did you come to be there?"

She beamed at him, and began her tale, which he found incredibly fascinating.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Caspian watched as Adara slipped through the trees ahead of him. She was their scout, having refused to allow anyone else to assume that position.

"It is a job for a Ranger." She had said, and steadfastly ignored any protest.

Now the Telmarine prince was seeing a Ranger in action. He couldn't believe how silent she was and how well she blended in to her surroundings. If he hadn't been watching her, following her movements all along, he would never have known she was there.

Adara paused at the edge of the Telmarine camp. She would take shadow-form only if she needed to, she decided. For now, she would stay in human-form. She could move around better, and fight more easily, in this form.

A Ranger is seldom seen when they wish to pass unnoticed, and Adara was no exception. She made her way silently to the sentry.

_Fools, to leave only one on guard. This will be too easy if he is their only sentry._

She came up behind him. He didn't hear her. The Astîans in woods around the supply wagon watched with bated breath as she bent her head near his ear. To their surprise, the sentry collapsed a moment later. Their Princess caught him as he fell, preventing a noise that would have woken the others up. Then she gave the signal.

The Astîans slipped out of the shadows, nearly looking like shadows themselves. Within moments the wagons were empty, the weapons and armor disappearing into the woods without a trace. Adara whispered something into Caspian's ear and handed him a small dagger. He nodded, bent down by one of the wagons, and carved something into the wood.

You were right to fear the woods. X

He handed her back the knife, and she nodded with a smile. Together, they faded into the trees once more.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Lucy woke with a start. She had been having such a wonderful dream – the dryads were waking up, she had seen Aslan, and she was asking him questions. But when she woke the trees were still asleep and there was no sign of the Lion.

She frowned, trying to figure out what had awakened her. In the distance she heard a soft grumble or growl.

_Aslan?_

She shook Susan. "Susan, wake up!"

Susan moaned slightly as she half-woke. "Certainly Lu." She murmured. "What ever you like." She then buried her head in her arms.

Lucy hesitated a moment, then stood and walked into the woods toward the growl she had heard. She stopped by a lovely white birch and leaned against it.

"Wake up." She pleaded softly.

_Please, wake up._

Nothing happened, so with a tiny sigh she continued. As she rounded a clump of brush, Lucy heard the growl again – this time almost right in front of her.

"Aslan?" She asked excitedly.

Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind, their hands closing over her mouth and smothering her frightened gasp. The person pulled her behind a bush as she struggled against them.

"Lu, stop it!" Peter hissed in her ear.

She stopped fighting him with a relieved gasp. "You scared me." She murmured the moment he let go of her mouth.

He put a finger on his lips, signaling her to be silent, then slipped out of the bush, drawing Rhindon. She peeked out, and almost gasped again. Walking through the woods ahead of them was a Minotaur.

_I thought we had destroyed all the Witch's followers?_

As Peter was about to leap forward and attack the creature, someone hurtled into him with a yell. Recovering instantly, her brother whipped around to face his attacker, and immediately engaged him.

**( A/N - Hm, should I stop here? No, I don't think I will. :) I can be mean, but I'm not that mean.)**

Peter had heard the growls of the Minotaur, and followed them to their source. To his dismay, he had seen his little sister about to walk right out in front of the creature. Instantly he had grabbed her, putting his hands over her mouth so she couldn't scream and alert anything of their presence. She fought him, but he let her know it was alright; he was the one who grabbed her. Then she calmed down, and watched fearfully as he crept out to engage the beast.

Before he could attack, however, someone yelled and smashed into him. He had been so focused on the Minotaur that he had forgotten to check the rest of the area. _Oh, great going, Peter._

He recovered himself quickly, his old reflexes returning to him as he engaged his new opponent. To his surprise, he found that he was fighting a man about his own age. That surprise did not serve him well; the man ducked and Peter did not see it in time. His sword stuck in the tree behind the man, as Peter was unable to change the direction of his swing soon enough, and the man kicked him so that he fell back, unarmed. Then he swung about and tried to yank Rhindon out of the tree as Peter scrambled to his feet. At that moment, Lucy jumped out of her hiding place with a cry, "No, stop!"

The man halted his efforts to remove Peter's sword from the tree, and both men turned to look at the young queen, who stood tall despite the attention. They were suddenly surrounded by Narnians.

Peter turned back to the man. "Prince Caspian?" He asked, realizing who he had been fighting.

"Yes." The man returned sharply. "And who are you?"

"_Peter_!"

That voice. The voice he knew better than his own. The voice he loved best in the world. He swung about, searching for her. Where was she?

His blue eyes met hers, and then he was stumbling forward. He had to get to her! She leapt down from whatever she was standing on, running to meet him. Then she was in his arms, and he was crushing her, his nuka, to his heart.

_Ara. Oh, Ara. Finally, my nuka is back._

"Don't you ever disappear on me again, Peter Pevensie!" She muttered in his ear, hugging him as tightly as he was hugging her. Neither of them was aware of the realization that had dawned on the face of the prince, or the fact that Edmund, Susan, and Trumpkin had joined the gathering.

"Hey, Peter! Share! _We_ missed her too, you know." Edmund's voice brought them back to where they were.

Adara childishly stuck her tongue out at his little brother. "Go away, I'll hug you later. Right now I'm hugging Peter, and trying to forget how much it hurts to be away from my nuka. You can have whatever hugs are left over."

All four Pevensies laughed, while Caspian and the Narnians just looked on uncertainly. After a moment Peter released his sister. Immediately she was dog-piled by his siblings.

Adara hugged each of them, and gave Lucy a kiss on her forehead. Then she turned to Caspian, taking Peter's hand as she did so.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Prince Caspian?"

Adara froze for a moment before bolting toward the sound. He was here! He was here! Peter was here! She would know his voice anywhere. She had no idea what was going on, all she knew was that she heard him.

"Yes. And who are you?" Caspian asked sharply. Anger blossomed in her heart, how _dare_ he speak to her nuka in that tone? She had to sternly remind herself that he couldn't know who Peter was. Well, she would remedy that!

There he was, in front of her. Her nuka! She paused in her headlong rush long enough to cry out.

"_Peter_!"

Her brother swung about, looking for her. Hope and desperation collided on his face, and then his eyes met hers. He stumbled forward, tripping over a root. She jumped down off the fallen log she'd had to climb over, and flew into his arms. He was here, and all was as it should be. In that moment there was no Miraz, no Telmarine army, no Arda, and no Sauron. There was only her brother, who had come back to her. She buried her face in his chest as he hugged her, and fought back her tears.

Suddenly she leaned up and said in his ear, "Don't you ever disappear on me again, Peter Pevensie."

His chest shook slightly with a small burst of silent laughter.

A voice jolted them out of their reunion – Edmund's voice, to be precise.

"Hey, Peter! Share!_ We_ missed her too, you know."

Adara looked up at him and stuck out her tongue. Now that she was back with her family, she would start to act more like the Adara they knew, and less like Hiljar the Ranger. In Arda, she had only entirely been herself when alone in the wilds with Aragorn.

"Go away, I'll hug you later. Right now I'm hugging Peter and trying to forget how much it hurts to be away from my nuka. You can have whatever hugs are left over."

Peter and his siblings – who she claimed as her own, even though they weren't technically – all laughed at her. Peter let her go a moment later, and she hugged the others, giving Lucy a kiss. Except for Peter, she had probably missed Lucy the most, although it was a close tie between Lucy and Edmund. Adara loved Susan dearly, but wasn't as close to her as to the others.

Taking Peter's hand, she turned to Caspian. "Allow me to introduce High King Peter. My nuka."

Caspian bowed slightly. "Forgive me your majesty. I did not know."

"There's nothing to forgive. I was about to attack one of your men, naturally you assumed me your enemy."

Adara glanced at the Minotaur behind them, understanding dawning on her face. "Um, Peter?" She murmured. "Minotaurs no longer follow the Witch."

"Good to know." He replied, and then turned to face the Astîan. "I apologize, good Narnian. When Aslan took us from Narnia your kind was still following the White Witch, and so on seeing you I acted accordingly. I might have thought that things would have changed. A common enemy will unite even the oldest of foes, true?"

The Minotaur looked slightly staggered at receiving an apology from the High King, but quickly stammered that indeed it was true, and his majesty was most gracious.

Then Reepicheep (the mouse from the council, Adara had eventually learned his name) popped out of… wherever he had been… and spoke up.

"We have anxiously awaited your return, my Liege. Our hearts and swords are at your service."

Before Lucy could say anything Adara leaned down and hissed in her ear, "Whatever you do, do NOT call him cute. Or adorable. Or anything like that. He has a rather big ego, and it's easily hurt."

"I trust you can handle the blade that you bear?" Peter asked pleasantly, trying to divine how much work would need to be done to turn these Narnians into fighters – or if they were that already.

"Yes indeed, and I have recently put it to good use securing weapons for _your_ army, sire."

Peter looked surprised and said quietly; "I am not here to take the throne from Caspian, but to put him in it. It is _his_ army; I am merely here to help. We have had our time in Narnia – though Aslan has allowed us to return for a time – and we will not be here to stay, though it pains my heart to leave. But you have been putting your sword to use? Good." He turned to Caspian, suddenly deadly serious. "Because we're going to need every sword we can get."

"Then you will probably be wanting yours back?" The prince offered, holding it out for Peter to take.

"Yes, I expect I shall have need of Rhindon." Peter smiled, taking and sheathing his sword.

**To those of you who were worried and asked that I make Peter and Caspian get along - have no fear. They shall get along just fine. Their strife in the movie is largely a result of Peter's attitude, so remove the attitude and the strife is gone. I would have taken it out anyway, but I'm glad you guys asked. :)**


End file.
